Not a Bad Person
The Astasia Empire stood as the uncontested superpower of the continent. No rival could match its might.
Naturally, the people who made up an empire that ruled the widest lands could never be monotonous. Humans, beastfolk, elves, dwarves—every race imaginable. An empire woven from so many different peoples had, almost by instinct, chosen the path of embracing every culture. Among the treasures it boasted, one stood out above the rest: polytheism.
Every god who loves their faithful deserves respect.
Those were the dying words of the first emperor, a man said to have been beloved by the gods themselves. By honoring that testament, the empire had been blessed with gifted souls who carried divine favor from time to time…
But that did not mean every god was welcome.
“Father of pleasure steeped in lust!!”
“Deliver us who live in suffering! Enfold us in your arms overflowing with joy!!”
In the temple of an ancient god whose name had long since fallen into ruin, naked worshippers writhed in ecstasy, their cries of rapture filling the air. An elf clutching a blood-soaked dagger gazed up at the towering stone idol and begged for an answer.
“Here, your little lambs offer you a feast! Please, answer our invitation!!!”
No divine reply came.
“Lord Albert, how could the Father answer for a single virgin?”
“Indeed. Let us continue the rite until the Father is satisfied.”
Attendants whose grotesque faces were hidden behind masks pleaded with him. If more death could draw the god’s attention, they would kill as many as it took. Albert felt the same.
“Do you think I don’t know that? I only hope my eagerness to meet the Father reaches Him sooner!”
He turned. Six naked virgins and six virgin youths waited their turn, staring at him. No—five virgins. The first sacrifice already lay dying, her throat cut.
“Heh… heh-heh-hee…”
Looking down at the girl dying in a drug-induced haze, Albert felt a pleasant ache in his lower back. Why had a highborn elf abandoned the elven gods for this ancient one?
What have the elven gods ever done for me that I should give up this joy?
The omnipotence of holding another’s life in his hands. Through the soles of his bare feet he felt the warmth of blood, felt life itself cooling, and a shiver of pure bliss ran through him. How much had he sacrificed for this rapture? Even if he could return to the past, he would make the same choice without hesitation.
“Your deaths will please the Father!”
His dagger traced a crimson arc and opened another throat—not cleanly enough for a quick death, but so the severed vessels would suck air and let the victim taste both agony and ecstasy. Watching the sacrifices drown in their own blood, Albert felt ecstasy bloom inside him.
While people died for a fleeting moment of pleasure, the worshippers begged god and Albert alike for more of that empty bliss.
“Aaaahnn!!”
“I want more women—more!!”
“Lord Albert, I’ll give you any amount of gold! Just let me feel passion again, the fire of my youth!!”
To Albert they looked like pigs rooting for scraps. He would have liked nothing better than to sacrifice himself and feed them… but it was not yet time to bestow the feast.
“Walk! Lord Albert has decided your purpose!!”
“Be grateful for the role granted to a lowly slave!!”
A wide pool of blood had been made from twelve lives. Into that pool the attendants shoved a child whose limbs were bound in iron chains. The child glared at Albert with pure hatred. Of course. The child’s parents, once faithful, had died for Albert’s sake.
Albert felt no guilt.
“Still resent me? Your parents chose their deaths. Why blame me?”
The gag in the child’s mouth cracked under the force of clenched teeth. That defiance thrilled Albert. He stroked the child’s cheek with the flat of his dagger, savoring the sight of someone who hated him enough to kill him a thousand times yet could do nothing. An ugly smile twisted his face as he leveled the blade at the child’s heart and mocked the powerless little thing.
“Hate me all you like. No god will answer your hatred.”
Divine grace never fell upon those who did not worship. Gods were selfish creatures to the core.
Laughing at the child’s tears, Albert began to push the dagger in—slowly.
Or rather, he tried.
Until a voice rang through the temple.
“So this is… the mortal realm?”
Through a passage that had opened above the stone idol, Dantalion stepped into the mortal world. More precisely, he descended in the largest avatar the passage could sustain.
He flexed his unfamiliar body and looked around. Naked worshippers of every age and gender stared at him. For a moment he felt—
“The stench of rot is overwhelming.”
—not embarrassment, but pure irritation. Of all the “largest passages” they could have given him, it had to be a cult’s sacrificial altar? The smell was as vile as meatballs kneaded from spoiled flesh.
“F-Father…?”
A worshipper who still failed to grasp the situation reached toward him. The sight of rotting food that seemed to crawl made Dantalion’s skin crawl. Living vomit—how utterly repulsive.
First things first: clean up the surroundings.
His patience at its limit, Dantalion drew out a crimson book. Why was it so thin?
Ah. Because it holds less than a quarter of my power.
It didn’t matter. Against powerless sinners he needed no grand authority.
Flutter-flutter!
The book, thinned to the thickness of a cheap novel, flipped open and names burned themselves onto the pages.
“Hans Mackeller. You burned your parents alive for their fortune, then turned to heresy and offered children as sacrifices to escape your guilt.”
“!?”
The man who had reached for Dantalion staggered back in shock. How could this being know sins he had never confessed to a living soul?
Dantalion’s revelations did not stop. A woman who, unsatisfied with two husbands, kept six lovers and three mistresses. A soldier who murdered his own kin to claim his brother’s wife. A merchant lord who paid beggars a few coins to stab his rivals.
“Truly… you’ve gathered nothing but the dregs of humanity.”
“By what right do you dare judge us!!”
One bold fool spoke up, desperate to bluster his way out of an indefensible situation. Well, a man who killed his brother out of lust for a woman would feel pretty pathetic.
Dantalion gave a dry laugh and seized empty air.
“It’s been a long time since anyone questioned my right.”
Right? What a ridiculous question. He had been granted the authority to judge sin by a being far beyond their comprehension.
“This judge holds the right to punish every sinner. A right that stands above the thing you worship.”
He brought his clenched fist down toward the floor.
CRUNCH!
An invisible hammer crushed the man flat. Bone and flesh compacted; pressurized blood exploded outward, scattering the remains. A living human pulverized before their eyes—a nightmare so vivid it froze the heat in every worshipper’s veins.
“U-Uwaaaaah!?”
“Run!!”
“Out of my way! I’m getting out first!!”
They fled, leaving Albert behind. Creatures who had gathered only for pleasure could never possess deep faith. But they could not escape. No sinner flees the courtroom.
An unseen barrier sealed every exit. Worshippers pounded the walls until their fingers broke.
“The trial begins.”
Dantalion called each name from the page and pronounced them guilty. Every time the invisible hammer struck empty air, one or two more lives ended. The last remaining sinner laughed at the ceiling like a madman. As the hammer fell toward his skull—
“You damned demon!!”
“Hmm?”
Albert, waiting for the slightest lapse, launched himself at Dantalion. Before becoming high priest he had been a knight whose name once rang through the empire. Violet energy wreathed his blade—the power of a fallen evil god, yet when mixed with a knight’s aura even a demon should—
“A servant of a fallen god dares such arrogance. You abandoned the honing of your own strength, yet thought you could touch me?”
Whoosh!
Albert’s sword passed straight through Dantalion’s body and cut only empty air. His mouth fell open. The power of the god he served could not be this pitiful.
Dantalion’s hand shot out and seized Albert’s face. Long fingers wrapped around his skull. Darkness swallowed everything. Albert thrashed, trying to tear the hand away. What returned was not light, but the searing agony of living flesh melting.
“Ghk——!!!”
“Screaming already? How disappointing. I still have more prepared.”
Above Dantalion’s head—now stretched like dough—a vast hole opened, deep as an abyss. He released Albert’s face. Albert looked into the void and saw dozens of withered, skull-like eyes staring back at him.
“Sa—!?”
In that instant he wanted to scream. He wanted to wet himself and beg for mercy. He could not. Dozens of desiccated arms burst from Dantalion’s face and seized him.
“Enjoy your stay in Hell with your followers. Five hundred years should be about right.”
The sinners who had once served him dragged him down. When he tried to shake them off they snapped his limbs. When he wept and chased the receding light they gouged out his eyes. When he screamed they tore his mouth open.
Gulp.
Dantalion swallowed Albert whole. The sensation was revolting—like forcing down a slab of flavorless meat. Restoring his face, he rubbed his jaw.
Is it because my power is weakened? Or simply because it’s been so long? My jaw aches.
How long had it been since he last dealt with sinners this straightforwardly vile? Ever since becoming Chief Justice he had handled only the complicated cases. Facing pure filth again after so long, a little excess was only natural.
Of course, using more power than necessary meant the passage linking him to the mortal realm was already fraying…
“Hic… hic!?”
“Hm?”
A hiccup made Dantalion turn. A golden-haired human child trembled in the pool of blood, staring up at him. Dantalion checked the crimson book. No more names of sinners remained… ah. One left.
His gaze found a broken figure shivering among the corpse fragments. The madman curled in on himself, making sounds that might have been screams or laughter.
“Hic… uheeheeheehic!”
“I’ll deal with that one later.”
His eyes returned to the child. Looking down at the terrified little thing, Dantalion felt a flicker of pity. The child had done nothing wrong, yet had been dragged here by fanatics. How frightened must the little one be?
And yet…
The talent… is rather decent.
Within the child’s soul he saw a light of talent writhing. Not a great light, but with a little help it could become something useful. Using power had already made even leaving the altar difficult—why not give this child a chance? He had never expected to fill his belly with the first spoonful anyway.
Every beginning is humble.
After a brief consideration, Dantalion tried to project friendliness. The universal symbol of harmlessness was a smile.
“You must have been very frightened.”
With a gentle voice, the lava-like surface of Dantalion’s face split open, revealing a set of clean white teeth—the best smile his atrocious artistic sense could sculpt.
“Hic!?”
It seemed to have the opposite effect. The child felt the blood pool grow just a little warmer.