The Season of Harvest

In the season of harvest, I dropped out of school. There was no longer any leisure to learn something at a relaxed pace, nor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time to cultivate shallow friendships. The company and assets I inherited without any preparation were so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠vast they were beyond my grasp, and to protect them I had to abandon that much in return. The innocence of childhood shared with friends my age, the toys piled mountain-high in my room—these were among the most trivial things. Thus I discarded the countless elements that had once constituted me. I disposed of the many gifts and fortunes that had been given to me. Only then could I survive. I let go of innumerable things that were no longer necessary.

The chivalrous spirit that had once vowed to contribute to society and protect the weak, my pride and resolve—I set them all aside. With so many hyenas tearing at my own flesh, I had no leisure left to look after anyone else. Sometimes I even had to excise the bitten flesh along with the wound, so empathizing with another’s pain was nothing but a luxury. For similar reasons I abandoned the freedom to meet artists or visit hunting grounds whenever my heart desired.

It is impossible to quantify how deeply I loved and cherished my family. But at the very least, that love outweighed the sum of everything else combined. Therefore, instead of the freedom to live as I pleased, I shouldered duty. I vowed to inherit my beloved family’s legacy as intact as possible and to carry out my revenge. If someone had taken away what was most precious to me, should I not be prepared to lose my own in return? Not only the bastards who had murdered my family, but every criminal was the same. They all deserved to die.

So I had a dream. Kill them all. To eradicate every pest that existed in this society. For someone who had not yet seized full control of his own company, it was an ambitious goal. My social foundation and available funds were far from sufficient. Yet once I made everything truly mine, it was a goal I could achieve. It would undoubtedly take a long time, but I was willing to endure it. To obtain enormous profit, an equal investment is required. I was filled with the resolve to relinquish many things in exchange for a bountiful harvest.

And so long years flowed from that moment. Having devoured every second of that time, I had now entered my late twenties. I had become one of Westania’s foremost businessmen, far beyond merely the rightful owner of the company. Regardless of whether the contents were filth or blood, I had transformed into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a villain who willingly immersed both hands and feet in it. In a way, it was perfectly natural. To obtain something, one must inevitably abandon something else. To take a life, one must be prepared to be stained with blood. Hoping that the hands which crush vermin to death would remain unsoiled would simply be excessive greed.

The fact that an untainted child had become an adult tinged with darkness, that I had become the very sort of human I once despised, was surely a fated event. It had been my own wish. Therefore, I harbor no regrets.

“Vermin.”

Dirty brain matter and blood sprayed in every direction. Had it struck bare skin, the sensation would have been intensely unpleasant. I shook the filth from my gloves and swept my gaze across the criminals inside the warehouse.

“……”

“……”

The smugglers stared at me in blank confusion, unable to comprehend the sudden intrusion. They appeared to have been in the middle of a card game; instead of weapons they clutched playing cards. Was the simple act of physically smashing through the warehouse’s outer wall truly that shocking? Foreign pests flown in from abroad, not even domestic. Seventeen smugglers attempting to plunder Westania’s cultural heritage and relics and smuggle them overseas. It was exactly the reaction one would expect from fools who did not know their place yet still tried to breach the capital’s harbor.

I stroked my chin, meeting the eyes of the sixteen remaining insects excluding the one I had just killed. Their gazes were needlessly bright. For the briefest moment I considered how best to dispose of them.

“Hmm.”

In truth I was not tolerant enough to leave bugs alive inside my own territory. Therefore there was only one choice.

Creak—creak—. The moment the reinforced exoskeleton encasing my body began to move, their focus fractured. Certainly the sight of an iron mass twice the height of an average adult in motion was intimidating. Even so, it seemed their homeland possessed nothing of the sort.

“……Shoot him! Take him down!”

To make such a foolish decision in front of steel armor.

Click—! Dozens of pistols yanked hastily from holsters took aim at my forehead and torso. They had the capacity to raid museums and ruins yet lacked the means to bring heavy weapons? Only two rifles were visible in my field of view. Truly regrettable.

Against fragile human skin either pistols or rifles would punch clean holes, but I was clad in armor. The Prototype Reinforcement Armament—Machine-0.

From the test data, a combat suit that could lightly block even pistol rounds. A pinnacle of cutting-edge science on an entirely different level from medieval armor, and a voracious consumer of capital. Although I had never tested it against rifles—on the excuse that they were military-grade—I had poured so much money and metal into the frame that I believed it would manage somehow.

Yes, I trusted the investment and our company’s research team. Still, because the world is unpredictable, I crossed both arms over my face and chest. It would be unbearably unfair if I were to be injured.

It was around then that the sluggish fools in front of me steadied their trembling arms and pulled the triggers.

Bang!

With that sound as the signal, the tolling of steel bells dragged up from hell rang ceaselessly against my eardrums. Bullets poured like a deluge.

The single shots could no longer be distinguished. Only the cacophony of bullets grazing the helmet and the screech of iron armor being scored hammered into my brain. Astonishingly, there was no meaningful pause. The idiots I had taken for fools knew how to rotate fire and reload in sequence. Oh, so they weren’t complete idiots after all. Having noticed that I was paying special attention to the rifles, at least one of them maintained continuous fire. I had assumed they might simply spray bullets in terror, but the guns in their hands and the brains behind them were apparently not mere decorations. They had been startled at first, yet quickly regained composure; it seemed they possessed considerable combat experience. Since they were not special forces who trained relentlessly, they must have learned it all through real battles.

Amusing, for mere smugglers.

Yet the majority of their nation’s military and police were even more worthless than these vermin. From newly commissioned greenhorns to brainless patrolmen who could do nothing but random inspections, to walking paychecks. In such a climate it was only natural that smugglers ran rampant. Perhaps some bribe-taker had made an already porous border even easier to pierce. There were countless men who valued the loose change in their own pockets far more than their country’s cultural heritage.

“……There are too many bugs.”

At least, there were so many that picking them off one by one from the outside was impossible. Westania was marching toward ruin not from external enemies but from internal corruption—corruption so deep that even an honest businessman could not halt it. ……Well, thanks to feeding on the rust of that filthy society, I had become a solid entrepreneur. In the process, a surgeon was born who would cut the cancerous mass out from within. Or perhaps the worst adult of all. I feel no regret whatsoever about that fact. I hated them enough to want to burn every last mongrel, I will continue to loathe them, and that sentiment has not changed even now. Therefore I harbor no regrets. The fact that I myself had become the very pest I once despised. On the contrary, I take pride in the truth that I can now exterminate every last bug. It was the path I chose.

“……That aside, money really is wonderful.”

It doesn’t penetrate the armor at all, nor the rifle. At least in terms of durability, the test could be considered a success. Then it was time to test the unit’s mobility and compressive strength once more.

Ting! Tidik! Tick! Tadadadak!…… ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The bugs who kept firing endlessly were finally beginning to bore me. Still keeping both arms crossed in front of me, I slid one foot far back. Creeeeak! A sharp metallic screech sliced through the roar of gunfire. And with it came a feeling of omnipotence. In that state I took one step forward.

“……Eh?”

I had already arrived directly in front of the rifleman who had screamed for them to take me down quickly. I seized the head of the man who looked up at me with the same stunned expression he had worn at our first meeting. Crunch! I crushed it. An absurdly simple act.

“……Ugh, uh, uwaaaaaah!”

Whether from the sudden spray of blood or sheer terror, the friend beside him shrieked. I embraced him as well. Boom—he burst in exactly the same manner. In the face of their comrade’s obliteration, were the rest still fools after all? Or was their camaraderie so strong that they sought revenge at any cost? They merely repeated the cycle of screaming, weeping, and wasting ammunition. In turn, I simply repeated the cycle of walking, grasping, and crushing at my own leisure.

Bang! Bang! Bang! The bells of blessing tolled. Perhaps they were heralds announcing the arrival of spring. Or perhaps they were guilty verdicts falling upon sinners. Whatever they were, I rejoiced in every grain that fell into my hands and moved my feet busily. At last the season of harvest had come.