Something Acceptable (7)
I waded through the blood-water that rose to my ankles, flexing and unflexing my fingers.
Maybe because this wasn't reality, the sensation wasn't especially vivid. It felt like a hand left out on a cold winter day—only the cold itself had gone missing.
"…Is that your true form?"
Perhaps it was because the stimuli reaching me from my body had dulled. Or because the culprits who had dumped me into this mire stood right in front of me.
My insides seethed more violently than usual, like a reagent with a catalyst flung into it.
My vision blurred, sharpened, then snapped like a severed thread. Not good. Experience told me this was a not good situation.
"I'm asking you. Is that your true form?"
But if knowing something fixed it, would that even be human?
"Well. Does it matter?"
A soft laugh. The being whose facial lines were barely visible through goat bone chuckled. The three-piece suit and the durumagi draped over it looked somehow familiar.
Was this some advanced form of mockery—an invitation to feel nostalgia for my homeland?
"Well, since it's a rare question, shall I answer? Yes, this is my true form. Unlike flesh, which obscures essence with innate appearance or acquired defects, a mental body projects the essence as one defines it for oneself—exactly as it is. It cannot be concealed, cannot be hidden. In other words, this form is the true form you desire, pure and complete."
Regardless of how I felt, she—or rather, the thing that was probably a demon—advanced one step at a time in an outfit that had been popular in Korea a year or two ago.
Her path began beside the boy and traced an ellipse around me. Passing me on the left at a measured distance, she smirked.
"But speaking of that point. You've gotten quite mixed up, haven't you?"
The body that had clearly kept its distance was suddenly standing behind me.
"Or are you thinking of separating the current you from the past you?"
But the words that followed were too heavy for me to flinch and go on guard at that approach.
My gaze dropped frantically to the floor. On the surface of the blood-water, my face was faintly reflected.
"Poor Gretchen."
It was the face of the Demon Knight. Nothing more than the Demon Knight's face with hair gone jet-black and burn scars covering the jaw and cheeks.
"Whether you've forgotten, or whether you're thinking of it separately—it's truly pitiful."
Something that bore my features and still was not mine.
"Originally, it wouldn't have had to be like this."
I clenched my fist tight as I felt the demon's laughter recede. The one who had already bitten into my lip was dripping blood-water.
"More importantly—how long are you going to stall? Are you hoping Gluttony will advance or something?"
And then, a click of heels. The demon's footsteps stopped roughly midway between me and the boy. Standing just slightly off-center from a direct face-off was so infuriating that I tensed my neck for a moment.
"I'm sorry……."
But my words never made it out. The boy spoke again.
"I'm… truly sorry……."
Of course my attention snapped straight to him. Every hardship I had endured since coming to this place raised the veins in my neck.
"What for……!"
What are you sorry for. What's there to apologize for. Do you even know the essence of what you're supposed to be apologizing for when you say that? Are you trying to apologize while understanding and empathizing with everything I've been through—all the burdens I'm carrying?
"I, I……."
Originally, there was no reason for any of this to hurt. No reason to live for more than a year missing my father, my mother, my friends. No need to forget my own face, no need to choke out cries for every peace I had once enjoyed.
Killing people—and the anguish of watching people die—was the same. Reaching for even greater crimes while thrashing about, and wailing before the guilt that piled up afterward: none of that was originally my share. None of it was something I should have experienced. Not a single burden I ought to bear exists in this place.
Originally—originally—that was how it was.
"I shouldn't have made that choice……."
But because of you.
"I shouldn't have summoned you……."
Because of you alone.
"I'm… sorry. I'm truly sorry……."
Because of you, alone……
"I'm really sorry……."
I—you……
"Why."
If it weren't for you, I would have lived just fine.
"Why are you so young."
If only you weren't here, I'd still be living happily right now.
"Why are you so young that I can't even get angry……."
But.
"…N-no. I, I……."
"If you're this young……."
"It's not—it's not that, ah……."
There was anger I had wanted to vent. There was resentment I had wanted to spit out while yelling and shouting. The adversities and hardships I'd endured coming this far were so dense that, even against my will, a great deal of old grudge had accumulated.
"If you're this young, where am I supposed to put my anger……."
But standing before the small boy, I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Fuck. The damn little kid was so short his crown barely reached my shoulder. That small. Way too small. They said a mental body's form was the essence itself—so this bastard had defined himself as a boy, for fuck's sake.
"You can get angry! You can vent it! Because I—I did everything wrong… because it's all my fault……!!"
So—damn it—because he was that young.
I simply couldn't get angry.
The child was too small for me to do so.
"Don't hold it in, please. Because I really did wrong. Because everything that tormented you is all my fault… so……."
I waded through the blood-water and stood before the boy. He wasn't just short. His face was small, his hands were small, and his limbs were thin.
By my estimate he had clearly been a knight's child—a child talented enough to place first on the entrance exam—and still. Young. A young child.
"Because I—I really am the bad one……!!"
Just a young child……
"…Don't forgive me. Please, don't forgive me. Please……."
I carefully embraced the child. "I don't deserve to be forgiven……." The chest where his face pressed immediately grew damp. The trembling body was far too thin and small.
"Please don't forgive me……."
The starting point of every misfortune I had come to suffer in this place was this wretched.
"It's all my fault……."
I finally let the tears fall. "Why is living so fucking hard." It was too cruel a world.
"…Are you kidding?"
And beside the tears that fell in soft patters, the sound of shoe heels rang out. "Are you fucking kidding me!" The white world submerged in blood momentarily shuddered.
"You suffered like you were going to die, and you're forgiving him just because he's a damn kid? Are you a real sucker?"
Tick. Tick. With the white beginning to crack like a spiderweb at her back, the demon twisted her lips. What showed between the orbits of the goat bone was a darkness that even covered the demon's face. Instead of real eyes, red lights hanging like decorative buttons blazed fiercely.
"You said you'd half-kill him. You said you'd half-kill him."
What she was using as fuel for that, well.
I hugged the child a little more tightly before the goat-bone figure fanning my anger. From the moment that thing started making noise, the child who had been rattling went still—even his crying died—and held his breath. Just like children abused by adults.
"Was your anger so shallow it would be resolved by a single appearance? No. It wasn't. I know. I know how angry you are. I know how much wrath you hold."
"……."
"I know that even if you strangled that child to death right now and stabbed that body with a knife over and over, the resentment inside you still wouldn't be resolved."
Hic. The boy in my arms trembled once more. Did he want to get away? Maybe. But after trembling once, he went limp as if resigning himself.
"It's okay if you do."
The small murmur lodged in my ear.
"Don't hold it in. You don't have to. You have every right. Of course you do! If you don't have the right, who does!"
"If that would resolve your anger."
"This is the mindscape anyway. Even if you strangle him, he won't die. Even if you stick a knife in, he won't die. So don't hold it in. No need to endure!"
"I'm fine."
"No one can criticize you! No one!"
Ah.
Truly.
"So Gretchen, do not endure—"
It was far too cruel a world.
"Shut your fucking mouth, you goddamn bastard. You really want to die that bad? Gaslighting the shit out of me right in front of my face, you son of a bitch."
I drew the zweihander from my back and threw it. Had it been there from the start? I don't really know. The moment I thought I wanted to throw a sword, a sword naturally came into my hand—and flew just like that.
"…I wasn't telling you to attack me?"
"When you sold off your conscience, did you sell your common sense with it? You caused the whole damn thing yourself and then dump all the blame on the kid—so why would you think a sword wouldn't come flying at you? Do I look like such a moron I can't even understand cause and effect?"
Along with that, the anger I had barely been suppressing surged up again.
Do you think I'm not pissed right now, so I'm not getting angry? Do you think the misery of being in a position where I can neither forgive nor condemn isn't unfair?
I'm human too. Why do I have to go through this—why do I even have to lose the chance to justly get angry? I hate it, I resent it, it pisses me off too.
"This kid did wrong, yes. That's true—but that doesn't mean it's all his fault. Did he summon me for fun? Did he summon me because living in the world was boring and he wanted to fuck someone over?"
But is it right to just get angry wildly, swept up by emotion? Does the misfortune I've experienced become a free pass to close my eyes and swing a sword at random people?
"No, it doesn't. If it weren't for you bastards, this wouldn't have happened in the first place."
Someone might think that way. But I wasn't that someone. I didn't want to become that kind of person.
I—I wanted to be a person who could face myself with dignity.
"I'd rather ask you. Does living like that feel good?"
"…What?"
"Killing off an entire family just to take over one child's body, then after parasitizing him, tormenting him to hand the body over, while fanning hatred and loathing in others—does living like that feel good?"
Also, piling everything onto this small child and only resenting him is not a dignified thing at all. Even less something a guy over thirty should be doing.
"If I were told to live such a moronic life, I think I'd just die of shame on the spot."
So. So… I turned the shrinking child behind my back.
Hearing why it was me, why he hadn't said anything, why this was the only way—getting angry and scolding him could wait until after I'd beaten that son of a bitch half to death.
The one who deserved to eat karma wasn't just this child. That bastard did too.
"…So, are you going to forgive that child?"
"No. This isn't a sin that can be forgiven. But I won't become someone who doesn't even give a child a chance to defend himself."
"Ha. Really, you never cease to amaze me."
Come to think of it, earlier she said that since this was inside the mindscape, even if you strangled him he wouldn't die and even if you stuck a knife in he wouldn't die. That was a bit of a shame. If I cut that bastard's throat right now, I might have been able to get free.
"Well, yeah. It's not like I don't know you. I already expected you wouldn't fall for it easily."
Ah—no. Since there was no guarantee I'd win, maybe it was fortunate. Relieved that even in the worst case things would maintain the status quo, I pictured a sword in my mind.
Why—in comics or novels, when you enter a mental world, don't they create and erase things just by imagining? The zweihander just now also felt like it had been grabbed from my back the moment I imagined it.
"I still can't accept it, though……."
So I tried it just in case… and fortunately it worked. Shing. A longsword with a sharply honed edge came into my hand.
"But Gretchen—did I grant you the truth for no reason?"
"…N-no!"
But before I could even make a move, an impact came from behind. Thanks to the blood-water filling the floor, the aftermath was even greater.
Slip. My body toppled over from the pushing force.
"Gah."
I took a few steps trying not to fall, but it was no use. I ended up sprawled face-down on the floor, then immediately pushed myself up. It was fortunate the blood-water hadn't gotten on me, but my nose felt numb.
"Why did you pu—!"
I momentarily forgot my anger and lifted my head while holding my nose. Clang! A blood-chilling metallic sound burst out in front of me.
"Don't even think of leaving!"
"Well. Why should I?"
"The contract is……!"
"You broke it first."
The demon and the boy had their swords locked—fast and rough at a speed even my eyes couldn't follow.
"You were the one who suggested putting keeping quiet into the contract. And among us, the one who broke that rule first was also you."
"……!"
"In that case, why should I hold back?"
But even if I couldn't see each individual movement, which side held the upper hand was clear.
Just as I was about a head and a half taller than the boy, the demon was also about a head taller than him. Meaning the physique alone favored one side.
"Kid, you can't stop me anymore."
On top of that, even the power I could feel favored the demon. No—it wasn't just favor. The caliber was different.
Boom! The white world finally collapsed. What was visible beyond was pitch-black darkness, and also a giant chain.
"…Not yet."
I instinctively moved my gaze along that chain. Something bound by the chain came into view. A giant hand. A giant hand made by gathering and gathering flames.
"I said not yet."
Clank-clank-clank!
In time with that, the boy also threw a chain at the demon. Though it wasn't a trajectory she couldn't avoid, the demon stretched out her hand as if forced—and was bound by the chain just like that.
"Tsk."
The demon tilted her barely visible lips crookedly. It seemed like irritation at this situation, or perhaps a sneer.
"But once the truth is delivered, the story changes."
However, one thing was certain.
"Fulfill the 'promise,' kid."
Those bastards are forgetting about me.
With a surge of irritation, I threw my sword at the demon.