Chapter 27. The Witch's Bloodline (2)
Chapter 27. The Witch's Bloodline (2)
A witch.
A human who, through a pact with a wicked demon, gained a near-infinite lifespan and forbidden powers.
The religious orders—one of humanity's dominant factions—had long decreed that such beings must be eradicated, and in time they succeeded in wiping their very existence, and every trace of them, from their domain.
Though the truth of it was far simpler: they had received a blood transfusion as proof of a covenant with another race called the "demonic race," and had partially inherited their traits.
'Dave, stay inside.'
My mother had become a witch by inheriting the blood of those demons for reasons I never fully learned.
Back then, she called it love, and left it at that.
She told me that to remain with my father—a human—she had no choice but to forge a contract with a demon and become what the world condemned as a witch.
All for the sake of a father who never once showed his face.
Even as the village where my mother lived was burned to the ground.
'Mom, no. I want to stay with you.'
'It's all right. If you hide here, it will all be over soon.'
'No, I don't want to be apart from you.'
So I believed I had to protect my mother, who had been left all alone.
Because if my mother disappeared too,
I would truly be alone in this world.
'M... Mom.'
'Stay hidden. Wait for your chance, and run.'
Even as she whispered her love for me, she closed the wardrobe door.
'Sweetie, you know Mommy loves you, right?'
If those words had been the whole of her last image to me, the sorrow of that day might have ended as nothing more than the commonplace grief of an orphan who lost his mother.
'The witch is in here! Seize her at once!'
'Is this woman really a witch?'
'Look—no doubt about it. Just look at those red eyes.'
'There'll be a witch's mark somewhere on her. Strip her!'
Those who came to capture the witch tore at my mother's clothes, exposing her naked body in stark detail.
A body laid bare among the men.
Though it was undeniably the body of a woman who had borne a child, the rich scent it exuded stirred the sadistic appetites of the men who faced her.
'There it is—an unmistakable mark, right on her chest.'
'So? Do we kill her now?'
'No. Better to hand her over for trial.'
'Then there's no harm in having a little fun first, is there?'
The attackers shed their own clothes at a leisurely pace.
Even as they slandered my mother as a vulgar, filthy creature, they appraised her body and readied themselves to unleash their desires.
'S... stop. Please, don't. Aah— Aaahh!!'
'Shut your mouth, you filthy whore! If you were a man and not a woman, I'd have killed you on the spot!'
'The only reason worthless trash like you gets to keep breathing is because you've got holes to use! What the hell is this slutty body—was it made just to piss my cock off?'
'We're just settling the grudges of all the innocent people you've wronged. You got that? Then be grateful and take this cum, bitch!'
She wasn't vulgar. In my eyes, the filthy ones were you.
My mom was kinder than anyone. She was the one who showed me love more deeply than anyone.
I wanted to scream that at the top of my lungs, but even as they toyed with her, my mother kept glancing my way.
Toward her son, watching her violation through the gap in the wardrobe door.
'I love you, Dave.'
She mouthed the words without a sound.
Then my mother closed her tear-filled eyes, as if resigning herself to something.
'......Ahaa~♥'
When her eyes opened again, what they revealed
was no longer the maternal love she held for me, but a single vulgar bitch crying out her carnal invitation to them.
'Ahahng~~! Aaahng~~! Hahng~!! It feels... so good~ Pound me harder, please!'
'Gahahaha! Get a load of this—shows her true colors the second you start pounding her, see?'
'Here you go, here's the cock you love so much. Bite down on it for all you're worth!'
'Uupf— *slurp*— heh, heehh, haaah~♥'
Right. That thing wasn't my mother.
There was no way it could be.
'Give me... more. More cock... more cooock~♥'
'Looks like the demon she contracted was a nightmare demon, the fucking slut.'
'You goddamn lewd whore. Want me to slam you even harder?'
'Eeeheeeek~!! It's so... gooood~ Harder, slam me harder~~♥'
Because if that had still been my mother,
wouldn't it be strange for me to feel that while watching her?
'Huff, huff.'
For the first time in my life, I saw my mother as something other than my mother.
Whether my reason had been paralyzed by terror, or the filthy desire hidden inside me had been awakened through her.
—A fluid rush.
The moment my mother's back arched like a bow, a white liquid soiled my lower half for the first time in my life.
When I realized it was exactly the same substance the men defiling my mother would soon spray, I understood that I too had been staring at her with the same eyes as them.
The moment my ignorance of sex crashed over me as an indelible sin.
As that pleasure morphed into self-loathing and my reason remained paralyzed, I ultimately chose to hide my body in the dark alleyways, fleeing from the world's gaze.
Until the hunt for those they called 'witches'—the hunt for beings like my mother—was over.
"......Hey."
Did I have anything resembling a choice back then?
Either die in despair at a reality too foul to call tragic, or curse the world that forced me to live through it and dream of revenge.
"Hey, what's with you all of a sudden?"
But even if I chose the latter, did things ever turn out the way I wished? Not once.
No matter how fiercely I pushed forward with that venom in my heart, in the end I was nothing more than a brat born with one miserable ability.
I wasn't useless, but the power I possessed was far too small to express my hatred toward the world. That was the problem.
It was so utterly insignificant next to my ideals......
That at some point, I reached a state where I no longer even knew who I was supposed to hate.
"......Hey!"
Was it the men who had gang-raped my mother? Or was it the Church, which issued the orders and had witches, my mother among them, burned to death?
Or was it all of humanity, which strengthened its grip by using the Church as its central pillar? If I truly killed them all, would this suffocating feeling inside me finally vanish?
The boy I was moved with his reason swallowed by rage, but as I gradually became an adult and faced reality, I understood.
That revenge isn't something that rings hollow after you achieve it.
No—the truth is, when a person realizes, no matter how much time passes, that they will never achieve it, that is when they finally begin to long for even that emptiness.
"Hey, errand boy! Are you deaf?! Can't you hear me?"
How must my life, swept along by that powerlessness, have looked to others?
They probably wouldn't feel a thing.
At most, they might happen to catch a glimpse of me, staring with vacant eyes at the Walpurgis symbol drawn on the paper in my hand.
"...My apologies."
Once my long recollection came to an end, I belatedly offered my apology, and Ymir, who had grabbed my shoulder, leaned her face toward me with a frown.
"What's gotten into you? Did you eat something bad?"
"No, I just... I got so focused that I ended up spacing out without realizing it."
It wasn't a lie.
Because now, I feel nothing when I look at this symbol. I've trained myself to feel nothing, and I intend to keep it that way.
I felt it in my bones: the man I am now was not even worthy of singing a requiem for her death, let alone taking revenge for my mother......
"Do you... happen to know something about that symbol?"
But perhaps because I had given up out of sheer helplessness?
At Ymir's question of genuine interest, I felt something ever so slightly stir inside my heart.
An emotion one might call lingering attachment.
"Yes, but only what I've heard through the grapevine."
I turned to face her calmly, without revealing the feeling, and she looked at me as if something wasn't quite sitting right with her.
I, in turn, turned the concern back toward her.
"Isn't it dangerous? I mean, calling it a witch......"
For the Grand Archmage, favored by the Magic Tower—a central pillar of humanity—to be researching the power of a wicked witch.
Could such a thing really be permitted? Even with the risk that she too could be branded a witch and executed?
"Dangerous, my ass. Witch hunts have been over and done with for ages."
Ymir dismissed the question lightly, folding her arms beneath her chest.
"No matter how much they prattle on about it being an unholy power or whatever, knowledge and ability should be judged separately from a person's character. I don't know just how wicked those 'witch' characters the Church oppressed were, but at the very least, I'm not researching this to participate in their so-called ideals."
"Really?"
"Really or not, to begin with, wasn't that whole witch hunt just one of the political maneuvers those Church bastards pulled to solidify their position? It's painfully obvious. Lone women holed up in the countryside—if you called them suspicious, no one would bother to investigate carefully anyway, and you could burn them to death or run a train on them without anyone saying a word, so they must have been the perfect target......"
—Crunch.
"...Anyway, I'm not interested in whether witches are truly wicked beings or not, and I have no intention of getting caught up in the Church's political games. I just want to figure out the principles behind how a witch's power lets them exert strength that surpasses normal humans."
Had she not heard the unconscious grinding of my teeth?
After finishing her opinion, Ymir adjusted her glasses and began staring at me in silence.
"That aside, I'm asking because you were staring so intently: do you happen to know anything... any information, even a small bit, that might be helpful to my research?"
...Hah.
You really are a consistent woman.
Even after such a long silence, you didn't notice a single suspicious thing and only care about some scrap of information on witches.
"Sorry, I don't think I can give you any information that would be helpful to you, Ymir."
Of course, even that single-minded stubbornness of hers didn't matter to me anymore.
Whatever the other party might think, whatever I might wish for,
from this moment forward, what I had to do was set.
"...Fine, then."
The moment I answered, Ymir immediately lost interest and went back to her work.
I hardened my resolve, looking back and forth between her retreating figure and the symbol drawn on the paper in my hand.
The Black Crystal Ymir. The youngest Grand Archmage in history, and the representative mage chosen for the hero party.
No matter what it takes, I will make this one mine.
Even if it means my true identity is exposed here and I end up dead......
'I love you, Dave.'
A memory that had done nothing but crumble since that day.
If only to know what result this moment might lead to.
