The Memory Collector's Harvest
The next day, the people were not a little shocked to learn that the mayor had been suspended from his post and placed under house arrest. Some accepted the measure as only natural, while others harbored resentment, yet no one dared voice their feelings openly.
Rowell and Aegina agreed that my decision was right, but they were far from supportive of what was to follow.
Even so, I intended to see it through. This was partly my own personal outlet, but it was also vengeance for the victims and a kind of shock therapy for the bereaved families. Rowell and Aegina’s comfort would give them strength; what I offered would help lift the darkness from their hearts, if only a little.
“Welcome, Lord Anak.”
In front of the prison and the gallows, a great crowd had gathered. The judges and the victims’ families stood waiting beside the guards as witnesses to the punishment about to be carried out.
Rowell and Aegina had not come. For Aegina, simply facing the families was already difficult enough, and the sight of the executions would have been anything but pleasant for them.
“The prisoners?”
“We will bring them out shortly. Shall we bring them all?”
I nodded. It would not take long. The screams of agony would echo and leave a deep shock in many minds, but the act itself would be relatively brief.
“…If possible, send the children away. This will be quite shocking for them.”
“Understood.”
At my words to the captain of the guard, some of the soldiers began moving through the crowd to escort the children away. Yet several families refused to let their children leave, and the children themselves resisted. Both the guardians and the children, consumed by rage and hatred, were determined to witness the moment of vengeance with their own eyes.
Thanks to Rowell and Aegina’s comfort, the number of bereaved families who had come was noticeably smaller than two days earlier, but those who remained needed revenge itself.
One by one, the chained prisoners were dragged out. Not only Will Carson but several others bore bruises across their faces and bodies; if my memory served, they were the ones who had played leading roles in certain incidents.
“All of them are to be executed?”
The judges and the guard captain nodded at my question. I had expected as much, yet there were a few relatively young ones among them. I had wondered whether one or two might receive long terms of hard labor instead, but seeing that every last one had been sentenced to death without a proper trial told me just how deep their evil had run.
“Very well.”
I looked over each of the men who had entered the execution ground. Fear filled some eyes; others were empty. A few glared at the surrounding guards and spectators with open fury, while one or two laughed as though they had lost their minds.
Will Carson, their leader, was among the latter. The beating he had received seemed to have left him momentarily unhinged, and those who did not know the circumstances recoiled in horror at the sight of him.
“Haa.”
I let out a long sigh. I had brought this upon myself, yet it did not feel good. It was not as bad as it was for Rowell and Aegina, but a certain unpleasant discomfort was unavoidable.
“Then we shall proceed with the execution.”
At my gesture, large violet runes appeared in the air above the prisoners’ heads. This was vengeance. There was no need for mercy. The guilty must suffer, and the people must be made to feel fear.
The runes opened a gate, and from the violet rift torn in the air, a thick black liquid began to flow. It carried no particular stench, yet the sight alone made the onlookers openly display their revulsion. There was something about the liquid that felt ominous and stirred an instinctive disgust.
“A, aah!”
“Save me! Save me!”
Without even knowing what they were seeing, the prisoners screamed and begged for their lives. How foolish. Their fear and pain had not even begun.
“……!”
“Calm yourselves. Everything moves according to my will, so there is no need to worry.”
The spectators and guards had been hurriedly backing away as the viscous liquid slowly spread across the ground, but my words steadied them.
Then, from within the black liquid that had formed nothing more than a shallow pool, bubbles began to rise. Yes. This was the true beginning.
From the dark liquid, a figure emerged as though a shadow were rising. Clad in a tattered brown robe, his face wrapped tightly in leather straps, the man slowly stepped forward.
“Kyaaah!”
Not only the prisoners but even the spectators screamed without realizing it. Between the rips and tears in the worn robe, what showed was raw, flayed skin still dripping with blood.
Who has summoned me?
Though the pronunciation was clear, the hollow voice was difficult to understand, and a chill ran down everyone’s spine. The prisoners, their faces hidden beneath leather, hurriedly lowered their heads lest their eyes meet his. Even those who had been laughing mindlessly sank to the ground, gripped by instinctive terror.
“Wanderer of the Sea of Emptiness. Sinner condemned to roam the rifts between the mortal realm and the spirit realm. Existence denied rest until these worlds return to the great cycle.”
These beings had no names. If one had to call them something, they were known as Visitors from the Void, Memory Collectors, or the Faceless, yet no title truly captured what they were.
They were pitiful entities trapped in the rifts between dimensions; no one knew exactly why they had been imprisoned there. Some said they were ancient mages who had tried to flee death, others claimed they were sinners cursed by the greatest gods. Still others spoke of them as brave travelers and victims from a completely different space beyond our worlds, a place no spell could ever reach. But the truth remained unknown to all.
What was certain was that they were driven by an impossible longing to restore their shattered selves, obsessively collecting the memories of other beings.
Even though possessing others’ memories could never return the self they had already lost, they continued to gather faint fragments of memory etched into other people’s flesh, hoping to reclaim what was gone.
“My name is Anak. In accordance with the contract made long ago, I have prepared this moment.”
With so many eyes watching, I deliberately used ambiguous phrasing. This was my outlet, my revenge, and a form of healing for the families, but it was also the payment of a debt.
According to the contract I had once made with him, in exchange for offering others’ memories, I could borrow his power whenever I wished.
“Punish these sinners. Sate your hunger.”
At my words, he slowly turned and walked toward the prisoners. The condemned begged us for their lives, but the spectators remained silent. Many, including a large number of the bereaved families, shut their eyes in fear, while some with stronger wills fled on trembling legs. Only a few remained, still burning with hatred and rage as they watched the scene unfold.
He raised his skeletal hands and began to undo the leather straps that bound his face. When the last strap fell away, there was nothing where a face should have been. Only a shifting shadow, like darkness trembling beneath a light.
Screams erupted. He seized one prisoner’s face with both hands and pressed his own empty visage against it. Moments later, the prisoner’s facial skin was torn away as though sucked into the void, disappearing into the darkness where his face should have been. One side of the tattered robe soon stained crimson.
It was fortunate they were bound in chains. Even the guards had turned away from the horrific sight, and the prisoners thrashed madly, yet they remained trapped in place, forced to await their fate.
“Ugh, ugh……!”
A groan escaped the prisoner whose face had been stripped. Though the skin was gone, he was still alive. Blood continued to pour from the terrible wound, soaking the ground, yet he lived.
As I had said, what they sought were merely the traces of memory etched into flesh. In truth, it was nothing more than the facial skin itself; they did not steal life, memory, or mind.
Even if the victim ultimately died from blood loss or shock.
“…Once you have taken what you want, make certain the sinners are dead.”
At my command, the hands gripping the prisoner’s head glowed violet, and the man’s head began to rot and wither, the life draining from it.
When the entity released him, the corpse collapsed to the ground. At the sound of the impact, he turned toward the next prisoner.
Once more screams rang out and chains rattled uselessly. The scene repeated itself, again and again.
Before even half were finished, every spectator—including the guard captain and the judges—had turned away with their eyes closed. Even though I had summoned wind spirits to create a barrier that blocked all sound, no one dared look back.
They simply fled, drawing what courage and strength they could from the silence.
Yes. This was enough. They had wanted to witness cruel vengeance with their own eyes, yet in the end they had turned away. They had run. They would no longer be possessed by the specter of revenge. They would not suffer the unquenchable flames that burned even after everything was over.
Of course, the scene might linger as terror and shock for several days. Yet, like the voice they had heard earlier, these beings did not leave a clear imprint on the mind or memory. They remained only as a vague impression, never as an absolute scar.
It might have been because they belonged to the rifts, because they were travelers from a world entirely unlike ours, or because they had lost their own selves and existence. Whatever the reason, no matter how shocking this moment was, it would soon fade from memory—along with the rage, sorrow, and the very will for vengeance that had been overlaid upon it.
This was what I could give them. It was neither beautiful nor perfect, but with Rowell and Aegina beside them, it would be enough.
After confirming that the final prisoner—Will Carson, who had lost his mind yet still soiled himself in terror—had fallen, I dismissed the entity and dispelled the barrier of spirits. Yet the silence that had settled over the square did not lift for a long while.