章 265: Chapter 265
Karl had always felt the weight of the world pressing down on him. His father's hammer, the same one used to forge swords, had shaped him into something else. The hammer had pounded into him a sense of duty—a duty to root out the wicked. As a boy, he hadn't known what it meant to truly punish someone, to decide their fate. But that had changed.
The sword had come after his father died. The Judgement Sword, as it was called. It wasn't just a weapon. It was an executioner's tool, designed to make swift, clean work of those deserving of their fate. It had been forged in darkness, under the hands of men who had long since forgotten how to breathe. They had made the sword with an intent so pure, so unfathomable, that its edge was always hungry.
It had spoken to Karl that first night, its cold steel gripping his hand as though it were a living thing. He was a boy, but the sword was not. It had known who it wanted, what it wanted. And it had made Karl into its perfect vessel.
At first, he hesitated. What right did he have to decide who lived and who died? But the sword didn't ask him. It gave him no choice. He soon learned that the world had its own rules, its own broken systems, its own twisted justice. People were greedy, vile, ugly at their cores, and they needed someone to put them down. Karl became that someone.
The people never saw him coming. He didn't give them that luxury. In the dead of night, Karl walked through the streets of the small village like a ghost, his cloak billowing in the wind, his sword held in one hand, ready to deal its swift judgement. He had done it so many times now that it almost felt like an instinct.
His reputation had grown, too. The townsfolk spoke in hushed tones of the one who never missed, the one who came without warning. They would tell their children stories, fearful and fascinated at the same time. "Don't do this," they'd say, "or Karl the Executioner will come for you."
But Karl wasn't some mythical figure. He was flesh, blood, and bone, and the sword he wielded was more real than any of them would ever understand.
He stepped into a home that night, the sound of his boots echoing against the wooden floors. The family was asleep, unaware of the fate that awaited them. His target was a man, a man who had taken from others without remorse, a man who lived a life of violence without consequence. Karl had no need for proof. The sword knew.
He paused for a moment, taking in the dim light of the room. A child's doll lay abandoned in the corner. The faint smell of cooked meat lingered in the air. The fire in the hearth had long since died. It was almost peaceful, and for just a moment, Karl felt a twinge of something unfamiliar—something like regret.
But then the sword pulsed in his hand, and that moment passed. There was no room for doubt now.
He reached the man's bed, the sword raised high, and struck. The blow was swift. No scream, no struggle. Just the clean slice of a life taken.
Karl wiped the blade clean and turned to leave, but then he stopped.
From the corner of the room, he heard a soft, pitiful noise.
It was the child, no older than five. She was standing in the doorway, her wide eyes fixed on him, and in her trembling hands, she held the doll.
Karl's heart did not stir. He did not hesitate. The sword hummed, its hunger unsatisfied.
He had made his choice long ago.
------
The next morning, the villagers found the body of the man, his life stripped away in the dark. His wife, too, was gone. A note remained in the hearth, written in blood.
"Do not cross the line. Do not stain the earth with your sins. Karl, the Executioner, has decided your fate."
The villagers murmured among themselves, afraid to speak too loudly. They all knew what happened when someone spoke too freely about Karl. It had been some time since the last one had spoken out of turn.
But one woman, her face pale with the knowledge of her past actions, couldn't help but question Karl's choices. Her husband had been a thief—nothing more—but Karl had hunted him down. The man had stolen to feed his family, and for that, he had met the Judgement Sword.
The woman tried to bury the memories, tried to forget, but the truth was inescapable. It had always been Karl, and it would always be Karl.
That night, the sword found her.
Karl knew her by name, knew her sins without being told. Her blood would spill, and she would join the others whose names he did not remember. His blade did not discriminate. It sought only the wrong.
The woman begged for mercy, pleading with him to understand. But Karl did not listen. The sword would not allow it.
------
Karl stood in the square now, watching the villagers go about their lives as if nothing had happened. They had forgotten their sins, convinced themselves that they were safe now.
They did not understand.
Karl's eyes swept the crowd, but there was nothing that stirred him anymore. The sword had dulled his feelings, made him numb. It had become his judge, his executioner, his conscience. There was no longer any distinction between right and wrong for him. He had crossed the line long ago, and now he walked a path from which there was no return.
A voice broke his thoughts.
"Is it true, Karl?" the voice asked, soft but firm.
He turned to face the man, a merchant with a crooked smile.
"Is it true you've killed your own?" The man's eyes darted around, fearful, as though hoping no one had heard.
Karl's grip tightened on the sword.
"It is not your concern," Karl said, his voice flat, devoid of anything that might hint at feeling.
The man's face twisted. "You think you're better than us? You think you know what's right?"
"I do not think," Karl replied, the sword rising with his words. "I know."
With that, he swung.
------
Days passed, and Karl's name spread farther than he had ever known. He had become a monster in the eyes of the people. Some spoke of him as a curse, while others whispered that he was a savior. In the dark corners of the world, the whispers reached even further.
But no one, not even Karl, realized the full extent of what he had become.
The sword had given him a purpose, but it had also taken his soul. Each swing, each life taken, chipped away at him. And now, all that was left was the sword.
One night, as Karl wandered through a forest, the sword began to hum. The sound of it was like a death knell, ringing through his skull. He had heard it before, but this time it felt different. It felt wrong.
He stumbled through the underbrush, his breath ragged. The sword dragged in his grip. He wanted to stop, to throw it down, but he couldn't. The sword had become part of him.
Then he saw it. A figure in the distance.
A woman. Her face hidden beneath a hood.
She turned to face him, her eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"You've come far," she said. Her voice was cold, distant.
"Who are you?" Karl demanded, his voice raw.
"I am what you've been running from."
The sword pulsed in his hand, desperate.
"You've been hunting the wrong prey, Karl," she said, her tone now shifting into something more chilling. "It's you that needs to be judged."
Karl's eyes widened as the realization hit him. The sword wasn't his salvation. It was his damnation.
He swung it one last time, but it was too late.
The blade fell heavy against his own chest.
And as his body crumpled to the earth, the sword, the very thing that had consumed him, dissolved into the darkness, leaving only silence in its wake.
週次パワーステータス
-- 推薦
ランキング 
-- 推薦
チケット