Capítulo 102: How It Began

I hear a commotion above. As I get up there, I can see a scene of despair. Many villagers are crying. Hugging each other. Lamenting their lost ones. I can't help but be sympathetic. But I can't imagine what they are going through. I have never dealt with such heavy and sudden loss.

"Y-you! It's all your fault!"

Suddenly a young man rushes toward me. Knife in hand. Trying to stab me.

*SLASH*

I simply grab his wrist. There is no way an untrained villager could best me.

"It's all your fault!"

He seems mad.

"If you hadn't come, we would have lived better lives! If it wasn't for you sister Hong would still be alive! If it wasn't for you…!"

That is when the mayor comes and knocks him unconscious.

"*Sigh* I'm very sorry about that. Please forgive him."

He is begging me. This is why justice is bullshit in this world. There is no black and white. A clear right is wrong from another perspective.

[It's fine. He must be tired.]

"Thank you! Thank you for your magnanimity!"

[How about we sit and talk?]

He nods. Then he tells everyone to go back to their houses. That he will give them further instructions in the morning. That he'll figure something out. That they should all sleep.

The clever ones understand that he is saying empty words. That he doesn't have any solution to their issues. Still, they don't make a scene either. Everyone is too tired to care.

The mayor then guides me to a table. One where there is a lot of papers. It seems he at least knows how to read and write. Perhaps that isn't enough in a world where magic exists.

"Make yourself comfortable I will boil some water."

He just saw many of his villagers die a brutal death and he is calm. I can see he is bothered, but he seems to be dedicated to his job. One could say it is a form of escapism. To only think about the task at hand and nothing else. One could also praise his work ethic.

"Here you go."

He hands me a teacup. Whoever started this custom of drinking tea here I'll have to thank.

"What can I do for you, Sir?"

[I'm listening.]

"That…"

I simply remain quiet.

"*Sigh* It all started a while ago. A traveling merchant came. These are rare here. We are poor and we have nothing noteworthy to sell either. He was just passing by he said. We received him amicably.

Then when he heard about our problems, he offered us seeds. Seeds of demonic plants. He told us clearly how to cultivate them. About the bloodshed required. About the sacrifice.

At first, we considered it evil. We were about to simply destroy it. But the value it had always stopped us. We figured even if we didn't use it, we could sell it. So we kept it.

That is when we started getting attacked by Dire-Hounds. They would kill a few of us every time. Some they would eat, the others they would playfully kill. Then the creatures would leave only to come back later.

Normally these would be dealt with by the army easily. But they wouldn't help us. Many died. That is when she had the idea. To use the corpses of the fallen. All in order to feed that the plants.

After many deaths, we finally managed to get an incomplete fruit. It wasn't mature but casualties were piling up. So we simply gave it to our strongest warrior. This gave him colossal strength. At least colossal by our standards.

He had the power of a 2-stars warrior. The basic requirement to join the army is only 1. But he was already feeling his power waning. It was a temporary one. Probably because of how we mishandled it.

In order to save us, he left. We waited for him for 2 days and one night. Finally, he came back. He had the brightest smile. He triumphantly told us he had killed them all. I'm not sure how he managed to.

We were ready to celebrate. That is when he fell. Face first. On his back were countless lacerations. The claws of his enemies.

He had used the last of his energy to come back to town. Dying peacefully at home. That is when she started thinking. A lot.

She wanted to make sure something like this never happened again. She didn't want to die from monsters. She would rather die on her own terms. She started talking about cultivating a few fruits to maturity. Enough to have guardians looking over the town.

She knew the sacrifice that was required. She was ready for it. The villagers mostly agreed. After the losses we had, they were ready to give up anything for power. Even their lives.

If it meant their kin, their friends, their lovers could survive… It would be worth it. Of course, everyone fears death. She didn't want anyone to suffer.

That is when we had our second encounter. A witch happened to pass by our town. She begged the stranger to help us. After much pestering, she got a recipe for a potion. One that would render the villagers calm.

That would block their emotions. Block the fear. Block the pain. Block the despair. Leaving only their basic capabilities. With both of these things, the plan came into motion. We all knew there was something wrong with using human blood as fuel. Still, the alternative was worse.

[How many did you sacrifice for that?]

"A few dozen already. About 20% of our population. The elderly sacrificed themselves first. They knew they didn't have long to live either way. Then the ones that had lost all their families and were suicidal. Then the ones that were valiant but untalented.

But it wasn't enough. The blood fruit seemed to be easy to grow early… It was all an illusion. The more it went the less of an effect our sacrifices had. After a while, we started sacrificing randomly.

At that point, I realized we had already gone too far. But it was too late. Should we stop, it would have rendered everything meaningless. So we kept going. That is when you appeared. You know the rest. *Sigh*"

I can definitely see why they did such a thing. Honestly, most of it was their business. As long as the victims were willing… I am in no position to judge them for that.

The problem is that they wanted to sacrifice me. My rat too. If they were willing to murder unrelated people… Would they have stopped? Probably not. Power can be addictive. I know the rush that using magic brings. There remains only one question.

[Tell me, who was she to you.]

That is when the man breaks down in tears. All his earlier composure gone. He wails, he weeps, he whimpers. He keeps going. Between the sobs, he finally mutters the answers.

She was his daughter. His lovely daughter.

I carry him to his bed. Then I help him lie down.

It seems I have work to do now.