It's Not Your Fault
The Saint drew in a long breath and released it slowly. The pale white vapor that bloomed from her lips veiled her face. With her thin, trembling hands clasped tightly together, she opened her mouth in solemn reverence, as if making a confession.
“...As I told you before. It has been over a hundred years since this terrible curse began.”
Deep guilt clung to her quiet voice. I saw her hands tighten. The Saint drew another sharp breath and bit down hard on her lip.
“...To be exact, my power has twisted into a curse.”
“It became a curse, you say?”
The Saint, who had been looking at me, averted her eyes. Then she nodded.
“At some point, the people I healed stopped dying.”
“...Are you speaking of the people here?”
“Yes. No matter how fatal their wounds, no matter how agonizing their illnesses… they all stopped dying. No—they cannot die. It is as if death itself has rejected them.”
Her hands shook harder. No—her entire body was trembling. In a voice so fragile it seemed it might shatter, the Saint continued her confession.
“At first I thought it was a blessing. The people who should have died were living, after all… But that wasn’t it. This is a curse. A curse!”
“Saint…”
“They’re in such pain, yet they don’t even recover! The suffering never ends! Because of me… I—I…!”
Her once-tiny voice grew louder and louder. The Saint struck her own chest again and again, hard enough to bruise. The heavy, dull sound of flesh being beaten echoed through the vast chamber.
“Why is someone like me still alive? If only I didn’t exist… If I had never existed! Then people wouldn’t have to suffer like this!”
“Please, Saint, just a moment—”
“I never wished for it. I never prayed for it. If I hadn’t said I wanted to see them… people would never have set foot in a world like this!”
The tips of her fingers, still beating her chest, had turned deathly white. Even as the Saint crumpled to the floor, her hands refused to stop. It was as though she believed she could atone through that pain alone.
“…Even if I, even if I want to be alone in a place no one knows… I cannot. If I do not purify it, the world falls into ruin… But the more I do, the more… death slowly… even the plants and animals…”
“First, calm down and listen to me, Saint. Please?”
A sickening rotten stench, barely masked by harsh perfume, stung my nose. The horrific scene surrounding us only made it worse—living bodies rotting where they lay, insects crawling across the floor, puddles of blood everywhere. My vision began to blur. My head spun and nausea surged, but I had to reach the suffering Saint. I had something I needed to tell her.
After taking a deep breath, I stepped toward her. At that exact moment—
Squish—
A soft, wet sensation met the tip of my foot. I looked down without thinking. There lay a puddle of mingled blood and putrid fluid, and inside it, a severely decayed hand. The instant I saw the fingers crushed beneath my shoe, goosebumps exploded across my entire body.
“Ugh—!”
The moment I yanked my foot back, countless maggots burst from the fingers and writhed in the blood.
…This is my limit.
My vision spun, and I collapsed unconscious.
In my hazy consciousness, the repeated sound of something shattering rang out. At the same time, a scream tore through my ears. I frowned at the noise pounding inside my skull.
…What was I doing again? Oh!
My eyes flew open. The Saint stood there, pressing the broken blade of a dagger to her own throat.
“What are you doing!”
I snatched the blade away in a panic. The Saint, who had lost it so easily, stared blankly at her empty hands. Then she turned her gaze to me. She blinked once, twice. Life slowly returned to eyes that had lost every trace of light.
“…Sashin?”
“I don’t even know how many times I’ve said this today! Value life… No, please stop making a god of death say such things…!”
Before I could finish, the Saint burst into tears and threw herself into my arms.
“Hwaaaaaang—!”
She clung to me desperately. Her whole body shook. Her sobs threatened to break off yet kept pouring out. I let out a sigh and gently patted her back.
“…It’s all right. You’re all right, Saint. Please calm down now.”
“I’m so glad… I’m so glad you’re safe…”
Recalling the situation from moments ago made my face burn with embarrassment. Fainting in front of a human was hardly fortunate. My seniors would scold me for dragging down the average reputation of reapers.
…Ah, right. I cannot return to the Underworld anymore.
Just as I was wondering if this might actually count as fortunate, I heard the Saint mumbling against me.
“…I thought you were disappearing too. I thought it was my fault—that I had ruined you.”
“Me?”
“Because it is a curse that drives away death… You, a reaper… I thought you had been ruined because of me, so I…”
Without meaning to, I cut her off with a shout.
“That could never happen!”
“…What?”
The Saint stared at me in a daze. Bewilderment flickered through her trembling eyes.
“…Isn’t a reaper supposed to be a god of death? Jera definitely said…”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Well—actually that part is correct, but!”
Trying to explain made my head throb. To think I would live long enough to have to clarify something like this to a human.
No matter how half-baked a reaper I am, would I really be driven away by humans?
I rubbed my temples.
“In any case, I did not collapse because of you, Saint.”
“Then… why did you collapse…”
Her voice was thick with tears. Cold sweat broke out across my skin in response.
Do I really have to tell her? Or should I stay quiet?
While I kept hesitating, mouth opening and closing uselessly, the Saint continued to ask, tugging and shaking the hem of my clothes. The look in her eyes told me she would never accept anything less than the truth.
…I really don’t want to.
I glanced up at the hallway ceiling before covering my face with both hands.
“…I am weak to gore.”
“What?”
The Saint froze mid-shake and stared at me blankly. I hung my head and shouted.
“I mean! Blood, or people being torn apart and bursting open everywhere! …Wait. Thinking about it again… Urgh!”
The image of the blood puddle and the rotting hand resurfaced, and my stomach flipped. I couldn’t stop dry-heaving and waved my hands frantically.
“Anyway, it was not because of you, Saint. It absolutely was not, so please feel relieved!”
“…Th-that’s a relief. It really is a relief.”
Tears welled in the Saint’s eyes once more. This time, however, they were tears of relief and gratitude. I thumped my chest with one hand while fighting back another wave of nausea. There was something I truly needed to say to her.
“And the fact that something like that happened is not your fault either, Saint.”
“…Huh?”
The Saint’s eyes widened as she stared at me. She looked as though she believed she had misheard. I grasped her shoulders and spoke clearly, word by word.
“It is not your fault.”
She blinked several times, then her lips trembled slightly as she asked, almost fearfully.
“…Really? It’s truly not because of me?”
“Yes. It is not.”
I sighed and continued.
“This is not your fault. It is the fault of the higher-ups who botched their duties… In other words, it is the gods’ fault.”
“…The gods?”
I wondered if it was all right to tell a human, but if it was taboo they would simply come and take me away. Though in this world the laws of the universe should still apply.
I nodded and began to explain.
“Simply put, all of this happened because the connection to the Underworld was severed.”
“…The connection to the Underworld?”
“Yes. The Underworld is the source of death. It is also the place where every soul meets both its beginning and its end. Once that connection was cut, death itself vanished from this world.”
The Saint still gazed at me with a confused expression. I scratched my head and kept explaining.
“Any world that contains even a single living being must be connected to the Underworld to function properly. Which means the gods who left such an impossible world unattended bear the greater responsibility.”
“…B-but I caused the dimensional rift.”
The Saint continued in a voice heavy with anxiety.
“If I had not wished for it, people would never have settled here…”
“That too is the fault of the gods who failed to repair the dimensional rifts in time.”
It was not a common occurrence, but there had been times when souls that needed to be retrieved were sucked into those rifts.
…I suffered so much just to pull that one out.
Recalling the memory of nearly becoming a dimensional stray, I shuddered.
“Well, they have a great deal of work on their end, so they may not always be able to respond immediately. Still, when a colleague suffers because of it, they should handle the matter promptly…”
“Hic…!”
The Saint swallowed a sob and buried herself in my chest.
…I almost started complaining out of habit. Close call.
I breathed a sigh of relief and said,
“The conclusion is that none of this happened because of you, Saint.”
“…Is that true? I really didn’t do it?”
“Yes. It is the truth. So please stop thinking of it as your sin. You have done nothing wrong.”
Even after my firm reassurance, the Saint could not hide her unease. The pain of failing to convince herself radiated from her trembling lips as she murmured.
“…Really, truly it’s not me? …I didn’t ruin the world?”
“No. You did not.”
After a long hesitation, the Saint looked at me with trembling eyes.
“I… I healed everyone and incurred the wrath of the gods…”
“No. If that were the case, every healer and doctor would have been annihilated without question or thrown straight into hell by my hand.”
I waved my hands dismissively, then glanced around the room.
“Fortunately, it seems death is still being applied here.”
“…What?”
Ignoring her question, I examined our surroundings once more. It was not a mistake. Though their numbers were few, I could sense souls drifting nearby. The flow of dispersing souls tickled my senses. When I focused, the count became clearer—one by one.
…Let’s see. One, two… About fifteen in total.
As I traced the flow of souls, my body suddenly began to shake. The Saint had seized both my arms and was shaking them urgently.
“What did you just say? What does that mean?!”
“Ugh—it is exactly as I said. Death is being applied in this world.”
“H-how?!”
In answer to the Saint’s frantic question, I pointed at myself.
Yes. I may only be half. I may be incomplete. But death exists in this world now.
Because I—the god of death, death itself—am here.