Chapter 233
Chapter 233
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 233
>Chapter Title: Now, Look. This is a Fist.
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After leaving the Second Black-White Slums, I spent the next few days crossing the fields nonstop.
During the day, I walked with the high blue sky as my canopy, and at night, I strolled while admiring the stars scattered across the night sky.
If walking got boring, I’d run sometimes, and if even that felt dull, I’d flop down in the fields and take in the vast sky.
I finally stopped when I could no longer tell if the space I was traversing was sky or earth.
“Any stragglers?”
At my question, the Troubleshooters trailing behind me flinched and glanced at each other.
They were all guys who’d infiltrated the Second Black-White Slums and gotten caught.
For the past few days, I’d had them tag along as I raced across the fields, and counting heads, it seemed none had fallen behind.
“Good. If you’re Troubleshooters, you’ve gotta keep up at least this much. Yeah, that’s right. But…”
I shifted my gaze to the Troubleshooter at the front.
Even after days and nights of running, his weary body was tense, his axe-like eyes glaring at me so fiercely it sent chills down my legs.
“…Gah!”
“Sorry. You’re just too scary.”
The guy whose eye I’d poked clutched his face in pain, staggering around.
“So, what number are you?”
“You… fucking bastard…”
Murderous intent seeped out slowly.
Truly impressive.
Even after getting thoroughly beaten during the infiltration, his will hadn’t broken. And that was after days and nights of running, no less.
As expected of a Troubleshooter.
Yeah, you need that kind of grit to survive.
In that case, as a senior(?), it’s only right to show these Troubleshooters an example.
I smashed my fist down hard on the head of the guy radiating killing intent.
The killing intent spreading through the air vanished without a trace, and the unconscious man flopped to the ground like a ragdoll.
“You’ve gotten nicer. Anyone else wanna get even nicer?”
Speak up if there is.
The Eastern Continent’s Jay Reeducator will personally gift you some niceness.
I flexed my fist expectantly, but disappointingly, no one stepped forward.
With no choice, I pushed aside my regret and turned my gaze to the guy at the front.
“Number.”
“…No. 17.”
“And the one who collapsed?”
“No. 11… yeah.”
“Yeah? Then this is a fist, yeah.”
A sharp slap echoed across the fields.
His head whipped around, and he staggered for a moment before steadying himself, caressing his swollen red cheek as he shot me a look.
“That wasn’t a fist, it was a palm…”
“No, it’s a fist.”
“…”
No. 17 stared at me in disbelief.
His eyes screamed, *What kind of nonsense is this?*
And that’s exactly what I wanted to say.
“You’ve lived as Decullan’s Troubleshooters, nodding along if they called a palm a fist or beans red beans. Doesn’t bother you when Decullan does it, but it does when I do?”
“How is that the sa—”
“Not the same? Why not?”
What I was doing right now was no different from what Decullan did.
So, it’s not like I’m saying I’m right. But seeing these Troubleshooters meekly obey Decullan’s words while bristling at mine made my blood boil.
Look at them now.
The twenty or so Troubleshooters were all glaring at me with eyes full of hostility—what a joke.
Would they dare give Decullan looks like that?
Of course not.
The moment they did, death would follow.
I could sympathize with that well enough.
But that sympathy made their attitude even harder to swallow.
“I released the restraint magic binding you. And I let you all know about it. In a way, that makes me your benefactor, the one who granted you freedom. Right?”
“That’s…”
No. 17 trailed off, at a loss for words.
“Were you happy with your lives as they were? Any loyalists to Decullan, raise your hand. If it’s true loyalty making you hostile to me, I can understand that.”
An awkward silence settled over the Troubleshooters.
Naturally, not a single hand went up.
Wasn’t it natural?
A fleeting thought crossed my mind—*Maybe the mood’s making it awkward?*—so I closed my eyes and called for hands again, but the result was the same.
Satisfied, I nodded and made the Troubleshooters meet my eyes.
Then I raised my right hand and declared,
“Now, look. This is a fist. Right?”
“…Yes, it is.”
No. 17 was using polite speech now.
I gazed at him approvingly, then swung my raised right hand straight into his cheek.
Another sharp crack rang out across the fields.
“Wh-why this time…”
“An old saying goes, if they strike your right cheek, offer the left. And you got one thing wrong.”
What was it?
“This isn’t a fist—it’s a palm.”
“…”
“No matter how much I insist it’s a fist, it’s a palm, plain fact. Even if I’m on a higher level than you, able to kill you in an instant if I wanted. So, let me ask.”
I scrunched my face in mock disbelief, locking eyes with each Troubleshooter one by one.
They perked up their ears, curious about what bizarre thing I’d say next—it was quite the sight.
Once I had their full attention, I spread my right hand open and asked,
“What is this? Think carefully and answer.”
The responses varied.
“A p-palm, sir.”
“Fist.”
“Palm…”
Some insisted it was a palm as they saw it, while others peeked at my expression and said fist.
As the Troubleshooters gave their assorted answers, I turned to No. 17 at the front.
“Why’re you quiet?”
“Well…”
No. 17 trailed off with an aggrieved look, so I reassured him in a gentler tone.
“I won’t hit you. Speak. I swear on my name.”
“No matter what I say, you’ll hit me anyway. That’s why I didn’t answer.”
“So, do whatever you want?”
“…Can’t I?”
Defiant eyes.
Of course, that defiance didn’t last.
He got scared on his own and averted his gaze slyly.
I placed a hand on his tense shoulder. No. 17 flinched and glanced at me cautiously.
“Yeah, live like that.”
“…Pardon?”
No sarcasm.
This was sincere.
“You had to nod if they called a palm a fist until now, but things are different. You can call a palm a palm, or a fist. You can even stay silent like now. It all depends on what you choose.”
So, what did that mean?
I took in the Troubleshooters’ bewildered faces one by one and voiced the words I’d thought of since pulling them from Svetlana’s hideout.
“You’re free.”
“…”
“Decullan probably thinks you’re dead. I figured out how to release it, but Troubleshooter restraint formations only break upon death normally. And since I went brutal on Svetlana’s minions, Decullan will believe it even more.”
Right now, I was giving these Troubleshooters freedom.
The very thing my comrades and I had craved until our dying breaths in my past life—I was handing it to these junior-like successors, having turned back time.
“Anyone who wants to go back to Decullan, go ahead. Sell my info, snag some scraps—it’s not bad. Do whatever. I won’t care.”
So…
“You can leave.”
When I finished speaking.
“…”
“…”
The Troubleshooters stood frozen like statues, not twitching a muscle.
How much time passed like that?
Under the blue sky, a single breeze gently swept the ground. The field grasses rustled and swayed.
And then.
Stifled sobs leaked out here and there.
It rained from a clear sky.
…Honestly, I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do.
By someone else’s standards, Troubleshooters were something that shouldn’t be unleashed into the world—creatures of the shadows.
But who else would save scum like them, if not another scum-covered soul?
That was simply my mindset.
…That said, before anything.
Slap!
“Urk, gah! No, why again…”
No. 17, slapped, looked at me with bewildered eyes.
I met his gaze and imparted senior wisdom.
“Hit you ‘cause I felt like it.”
“…But you said you wouldn’t…”
“That’s freedom.”
No. 17 didn’t respond.
All I could do was hope.
That No. 17 understood freedom.
* * *
After granting freedom even to No. 11, who’d been unconscious, I sat alone in the empty field, gazing up at the sky.
After the Troubleshooters left, all sorts of thoughts flitted through my mind.
To be frank, my first thought was this.
*My stomach hurts.*
We longed for freedom and never got it, but these lucky bastards snatched it right up.
Someone more magnanimous might’ve smiled proudly, but not me—my gut just ached.
Even up to the moment I released them, I debated killing them all outright. Or at least destroying their cores. Believe me?
Truth is, I’m still debating it.
For some reason, the Troubleshooters hadn’t strayed far—they thought they had, but they were still within my sensory range.
Meaning I could chase them down and crush their skulls anytime.
As I waged this solo battle, a shadow fell over my face right then.
“You okay?”
It was Shine.
“What about the Black-White Slums?”
“San-nim’s master, Rihaim, will handle the Black-White Slums. Didn’t you send him that letter? Asking him to become the director of the orphanage you’re setting up there. Even with a split core, protecting one Evelin won’t be hard.”
“How’d you know it was Evelin?”
“You go back and forth between the Academy and the Black-White Slums—if I didn’t know, wouldn’t that make me the idiot?”
It made sense, so I nodded, then Shine’s question rang in my ears.
“But I asked if you’re okay.”
“With what?”
“The Troubleshooters. They could go to Decullan and sell your info, right? Or hold a grudge against Svetlana and cause trouble. They’re weak, but they’ve mastered dirty tricks. Just like you.”
“Hmm.”
Instead of answering, I stood, sat cross-legged, and watched the swaying grass blades.
Shine sat beside me and spoke again.
“They’ve got a vibe like yours. Kindred spirits? Is that why you’re showing mercy?”
“…”
“What if they go out and commit crimes? Innocent people could suffer because of you.”
I looked up at the blue sky.
Shine didn’t ask more after that.
After savoring the silence between us for a bit, I gathered my thoughts and spoke.
“It wouldn’t sit well if the Troubleshooters went to Decullan and sold my info. But it won’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you’d read the letter I sent Rihaim senior, but you didn’t.”
“Saw the first part while you were secretly writing it.”
The fact he’d spied on me writing was surprising, but I gave the answer without showing it.
“To contact Decullan, they’d have to go back to Hazen or the Second Black-White Slums and use the spare communication orb in the safehouse. And I told Rihaim senior the safehouse location.”
“Then…”
“No idea what Rihaim senior will do, but they won’t get a warm welcome if they show up. He looks soft, but his hands are vicious.”
“Huh.”
Shine looked at me like he was impressed.
He hadn’t expected me to prepare that thoroughly.
But it was only natural.
They’re free to report me to Decullan, but freedom always comes with responsibility.
“And if they commit crimes… I’ll ask you instead. Is it right to kill living beings just because you think they might?”
“That’s…”
“Watch your words. If Troubleshooters commit crimes, it’s not my fault for releasing them—it’s their rotten hearts. That’s not my concern.”
“…You’re right.”
Shine nodded as if convinced.
I glanced at his profile, then looked back at the sky.
Of course, I wasn’t free of worry.
Just…
*Wyvern, you saw it properly, right?*
[Saw it clear. No twisted hearts.]
Over the days holding them, I’d used Wyvern’s insight to scrutinize their natures closely.
They weren’t particularly vile, nor were they good.
Plain ordinary, in other words.
So, what to do?
Trust Wyvern’s word.
That’s why I suppressed my worries.
Anyway.
Thinking it was time to head out, I brushed off and stood.
But why?
Rustle—
A presence approaching me through the fields.
“…?”
“Hmm, a Troubleshooter, huh.”
The one approaching was one of the Troubleshooters I’d just released—the very first to grasp freedom, No. 17.