Chapter 77
Chapter 77
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: The Price of Peace
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Only those who belong to Hell can harm Hell.
It was a truth that applied to every Hell I had observed.
So, this too was a natural outcome.
"Look behind you!"
The soldier who had lost his mobility shouted.
War History was bringing down its axe on the barbarian's back.
*Crack!*
"Ugh, uwoooaaaargh!!!"
The barbarian roared through the pain, but it was a meaningless cry.
Because War History's steps were faster than his retaliating axe.
Its movements were reminiscent of a wolf pack's hunt.
Though War History must have held countless weapons within its body, it used only the same types of weapons as the four pilgrims.
It also engaged in acts of mockery, avoiding vital spots even when it could have taken their lives.
Faced with that one-sided violence, I thought.
*'It's no use.'*
That was an opponent they could never defeat head-on, not even if they tried ten million times.
"Retreat!"
The Spartan shouted.
But it, too, was a hollow cry.
The entrance they had come through was already sealed shut, unmoving.
The paladin, who had retreated to the door while supporting the soldier, said.
"The door won't open!"
In that moment, despair cast a shadow over their faces.
The paladin muttered in a trembling voice.
"Why... why is this happening...!"
He seemed to find it difficult to even look directly at War History.
What stained his face even more deeply than despair was a sense of betrayal.
"What is this Hell for! What in the world do you want from us!"
I was reminded of what he had said before entering this place.
The smile of the cleric who hadn't lost faith until the very end was now twisted, steeped in betrayal.
"Aaaaargh!!!"
He screamed and charged at War History.
*Shluk—*
And just like that, he died.
A blade that shot out from War History's palm pierced the paladin's heart precisely.
The sword he had thrust forward, risking death, began to sink into War History's body as if being swallowed.
"Preacher!"
The barbarian stomped over, trying to help the paladin.
But the light was already fading from the paladin's eyes.
"Get back! It's dangerous!"
The Spartan's voice didn't reach the barbarian.
Because with an unpleasant, viscous sound, the axe was also sucked into War History's body.
For them, whose weapons were their very essence, being robbed of them was no different from death.
The Spartan was next.
War History appeared before him as he stood momentarily stunned by the barbarian's futile death.
"...Ah, damn it."
Those were his last words.
With a *shluk*, the Spartan's spear and shield were also swallowed by War History.
Not completely.
As if it took time to digest, the sword, axe, spear, and shield remained, half-embedded in War History's body.
The soldier noticed this and said.
"Get out of there! You can do it, can't you!"
Though his body was already unable to walk from the bullets, he trembled as he got to his feet.
"It's just one of them! We can win..."
Abruptly, the soldier's words stopped.
As if he had just noticed something, he looked around with trembling eyes.
What soon emerged was a hollow smile.
"...So that's how it was."
Inside the dark shrine, following the soldier's gaze, I too could see what he had discovered.
They were the remains of bodies, melted down to the point of being unrecognizable.
His face twisted.
His gaze soon turned to War History.
"...They were our predecessors. So this was their end."
It seemed he had finally realized War History's true identity.
War History slowly walked up until it was right in front of the soldier.
It didn't take any further action.
Standing still, War History almost seemed to be prompting the soldier for his last words.
Sadness surfaced on the soldier's face.
"In the end, we couldn't find the answer. It seems you won't tell us what sin was so great."
Only then did War History move, grabbing the soldier's gun and plunging it into its own stomach.
The gun was sucked in smoothly, as if sinking into mud.
"..."
And so, the soldier's body fell.
Only I remained.
I watched War History, the undigested weapons still embedded in its body.
As if its duty was done, it returned to the throne and sat again in its arrogant posture.
***
For a long time after, I watched War History sitting on its throne.
The four men's weapons, which had been sticking out halfway, were now digested to the point where only their very tips were visible.
Watching this, my heart sank.
I wondered, if someone intended for me to join their journey, why were they showing me this scene?
But even such thoughts eventually became exhausting.
It soon turned into a sense of unease.
I didn't know how long I'd been there, as it was a space where time couldn't be perceived, but at some point, a question arose.
*'...Why am I still here?'*
Based on my experience so far, once I had seen everything in a particular Hell, my body—or consciousness, I wasn't sure which—would immediately move to the next space.
It was always accompanied by a nausea like being tossed by waves.
But this time, it didn't happen.
I considered its meaning, and I knew the reason before I could even answer myself.
There was still something left to see.
*Crrrack—*
On War History's blank face, lips began to form.
They twitched.
"Is anyone there...?"
My eyes widened as if they would tear.
Because the owner of that voice was none other than the paladin.
"Is no one there?"
This time, not even Hell provided an answer.
Was it because it didn't know, or was it leaving the judgment entirely to me?
It didn't matter either way.
In that moment, I felt a deep sense of relief and an anxiety that overshadowed it.
*'Is there a way to help...'*
There isn't.
I existed only as something no different from a ghost.
My fists clenched tightly.
Around then, the paladin's voice echoed once more.
"...No one. No... one here. Everyone was... oh?"
The voice stuttered and broke off.
It was an artificial stutter, as if a part of the data had been deleted from an audio file.
"...uch, an end... there is no God..."
The lips twisted.
*Flinch.* War History's body shuddered.
As if being pressed down by something, its muscles tensed as if trying to stand, yet it repeatedly slumped back down.
I could tell.
The one trying to stand was the paladin, and the one forcing him back down was War History.
As this pitiful tug-of-war continued, I found myself rushing to support him without thinking.
Of course, my touch didn't connect.
But the paladin began to stumble to his feet on his own.
"My... sin..."
The voice, still stuttering, began to grow clearer in that moment.
"...I have, sinned."
Staggering, he righted his body that was about to fall sideways.
"I must atone. To my friends."
*Crrrack.* War History's left eye formed.
It was the eye of the paladin I knew.
It twisted, repeatedly opening and closing.
All its movements were like that.
He moved desperately, as if resisting something with all his might.
The faint tip of the sword hilt remaining in its chest looked like a fragment of his soul that still lingered.
"My sin was speaking of God's mercy. I, if I hadn't spoken of it."
He reached out his hand.
*Crrrack.* A blade protruded from his fingertips.
"If I had spoken not of mercy, but of victory. If I had..."
*Crrrack.* This time, the right eye appeared.
He lifted his head.
It was in that moment.
"...Ah."
*Crack—*
His neck snapped to one side.
It wasn't an injury.
From that movement onward, whatever had been suppressing the paladin vanished.
His movements grew fluid, and his strained steps gained strength.
A strange light flickered in his eyes.
It was just an action, but I knew.
He had attained some kind of enlightenment.
And had gained freedom because of it.
"...Yes, so that's it."
He laughed softly.
Rusty tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks.
"Aah, so that's how it was..."
He stared at his own hand, from which the blade protruded.
A faint joy was laced in his soliloquy.
He hunched over, his shoulders trembling slightly.
"...Yes, that was it. We were the history of war. The history of humanity's struggles. The answer we so desperately sought..."
Rusty tears dripped, *plop, plop*, to the floor.
"...was with us all along, and we didn't even know."
There was nothing I could understand about this change.
Thus, all I could do was appreciate the scene before me.
The slumped paladin reminded me of a faint ray of light shining into a dark cave, and the humble flower at its end.
In the silence, I felt a sense of pity.
He exhaled.
"...We were soldiers. In this body, we were messengers who bore the karma of sin to bring peace."
He hugged his own body.
The action seemed less like hugging himself and more like embracing the countless souls dissolved within him.
"If only we had acted in our own way, but our eyes were blinded."
Soon, the blade that had sprouted from his hand touched his chest.
My breath caught.
Because I knew what he was about to do.
It felt like a bolt of lightning striking inside my head.
*'...!'*
Suicide.
He was trying to end War History by sacrificing himself.
It wasn't impossible.
A single proposition that held true across all Hells.
According to the rule that only those who belong to Hell can harm Hell, it was possible.
As a prisoner, he couldn't, but as a part of the jailer, he could harm something that belonged to Hell.
My lips moved wordlessly.
Only then did I understand why Hell had kept me in this place.
It must have been to show me that very scene.
The paladin's eyes turned toward the sealed stone door.
As if he had seen something, his smile deepened.
Without hesitation, he chanted as if in prayer.
"Through protection and sacrifice, may peace come again."
And then, the blade plunged into his heart.
*Shluk—*
A small twitch, and then his eyes slowly closed.
His breath and movements ceased.
And then, a change occurred.
*Shaaa—*
The rusty blood that flowed down the blade turned to dust and scattered.
But it didn't travel far, instead gathering behind him, in front of the throne.
It began to coalesce, obscuring the great throne from view.
What it formed was a golden door.
...The very same door that the girl would later pass through at the final station, guided by the butterfly.
For a long while, I stared at the door, understanding nothing, and for another long while, I watched War History's body melt away.
It was at one such moment.
*Ruuuumble!*
The tightly sealed stone door opened.
I heard footsteps.
I turned my head, and—
*Kiiiiing—!*
—lost my vision along with a ringing in my ears.
I was leaving the space.
The place I arrived at was completely different.
[Hello, I'm a butterfly.]
The Sea of Grudges.
That was how I had met the girl and the butterfly.
***
My memories from the Hell of War had many puzzling aspects.
In fact, even after witnessing the event to its end, I hadn't truly understood its meaning.
I only truly grasped its meaning after seeing the Sea of Grudges.
It was a guess, but that's what it seemed to be.
The golden door.
Shining alone in the darkness of Hell, it was surely a path to salvation.
But one could not grasp that salvation for oneself.
Just as the butterfly and the paladin had done, the door must be a device for saving others through self-sacrifice.
Didn't the butterfly and the paladin both send someone through the golden door and then vanish, without entering it themselves?
This was an extension of that story.
The paladin had said that soldiers were messengers who bore the karma of sin in their bodies to bring peace.
In the end, he said.
"Through protection and sacrifice, may peace come again."
Since he expressed that this was their way and their duty with the word 'we', the 'reason they fell into Hell' that they had sought was likely contained within those words.
Like cheese placed in the middle of a mousetrap, perhaps that was something they could only realize after surviving the trap of the shrine.
From the beginning, the ones they were meant to save were others, not themselves.
Just as they had done in life.
Wasn't it a fitting end for the being named War History?
After all, the monster completed by their union, true to its name of 'History', had saved someone in the future through its own mistakes and despair.
Of course, some questions still remained.
Why was it that only the paladin survived being consumed by War History and was able to briefly seize control?
In his final moments, through what process did the paladin attain enlightenment, allowing him to self-destruct?
What was the reason the forces suppressing him suddenly stopped?
I would probably never know the answers.
If I were to make a hopeful guess, perhaps the suppression on him was lifted because the souls dwelling within War History helped the paladin.
Interpretation is up to the individual.
When the game is released, the users, like me, will have their own interpretations, and I had no intention of encroaching on that territory.
However, I would deliberately include one device.
*'Because no one saved them.'*
Because besides me, there is no one to remember them, who sacrificed themselves even after death.
Because I am the only one who can honor these four heroes whose names I never even knew.
Now, with my meager imagination, I intend to give them a different ending.
Additionally, I want to create an ending that is necessary for the game.
*'Multiple endings.'*
Hellic 3, fitting the number 3, will have three endings prepared.
I spoke to the people gathered in the conference room.
"We'll have three versions of the boss fight."
The 'Stigmata' system was for that purpose.
Holiday (1)