Suzuki Makoto did not attempt to stay and converse with them for the time being. The wariness in their eyes would not dissipate just because he had given them a waterskin.
This was Zaraki District, a place where only mutual slaughter allowed one to survive.
He abandoned his plan to head to the Spiritual Arts Academy for now. Instead, he spent a day wandering around Zaraki District and another day venturing deeper into the 75th District. What he saw along the way was largely the same: self-proclaimed brave souls tried to rob him of his swords and clothes, while the weak huddled together, watching him warily.
However, by the 75th District, some semblance of order had emerged—perhaps due to the appearance of larger water sources. Small towns and villages began to form, where people could at least live together peacefully. Even if this order stemmed from overwhelming power, it meant survival.
Suzuki Makoto returned to Zaraki District. The four people had not left the cave; clearly, the waterskin he had left allowed them to rest there a few more days. They were no longer as tense as the first time. Upon seeing him again, though still nervous, they were at least not filled with hostility. The boy boldly lowered his spear and probed cautiously.
"Do you need something?"
"I'm a stray soul who just arrived here... I want to learn about this place."
Suzuki Makoto handed over another full waterskin. This time, the boy took it initiative, and the others' expressions softened.
"Let me explain."
One of the elders stepped forward.
Soon, the veil was lifted on Zaraki District, this lawless land, before Suzuki Makoto's eyes.
Due to the scarcity of water, even ordinary people had to survive through mutual killing and plundering resources. Shinigami never patrolled beyond the 40th District of Rukongai, so any Rukongai district numbered above 40 operated by the rule of fist size.
Even deeper in, larger water sources were occupied by certain factions. Elders like them could never be accepted, though children might have a chance—only to be driven as servants, their fates unknown.
Thus, they knew it was safer further in but could only hide here. Zaraki was vast enough to conceal scraps of food for sustenance. By dodging around, relying on occasional rain and intermittent streams or springs known to the two elders, they barely survived.
"Don't the Shinigami care at all about places beyond the 40th District?"
"Not entirely. Occasionally, we hear of terrifying Menos Grande appearing in districts 60 or 70, and Shinigami teams are dispatched to exterminate them. But once cleared, they leave. As for ordinary Menos Grande, whoever encounters one is out of luck."
The elder narrated the facts flatly and numbly, his voice resigned.
"Has no one ever tried to change things here? Zaraki must have some true powerhouses, right?"
"Those with spiritual power can't survive like us on water alone, so they kill each other, plundering more resources. Eating food makes them stronger, so they push toward the front districts. Who would want to stay in this godforsaken place? They can't even fill their bellies—how could they care about anything else?"
The other chuckled self-mockingly.
"Then let me do it."
Suzuki Makoto said calmly. The elder was stunned, not grasping his meaning.
"Old man, you know the local terrain, right? Is there a faction occupying a water source and committing all sorts of evils?"
"Hahaha— what standard do you use for 'evils'?"
His laughter was sad and desolate.
"Even I have killed for water. That child has stolen others' food and water. Does that make us evildoers? No one can live kindly here— no one! That waterskin of yours— we've drunk from ones just like it!"
The youth fell silent, with no retort.
"So, where's the nearest water source?"
The elder called over the other elder. The two scratched lines in the dirt with their spears, conferring before pointing the way for Suzuki Makoto.
"The nearest water source is about sixty li from here—a deep spring-fed pool, probably in that southeastern area. It's so deep, even in drought, we've never seen the bottom. Those who hold it are the strongest, most ruthless. I don't even know who's in control now. The blood spilled fighting over its flow could fill the pool."
Suzuki Makoto nodded and looked at the four.
"Will you believe in me— I can bring you, bring Zaraki, a different life. One not reliant on killing to survive."
The boy swallowed involuntarily, but the elder clutched the two children tightly, hands unyielding.
"Sir, we're grateful for the water, but someone like you should become a Shinigami. I admire your nobility. Following you, the children might have good days, but we lack the power to protect them."
The elder gazed pitifully at Suzuki Makoto. He knew he had no strength to resist, but the other's mercy gave him courage to refuse.
The youth did not press. He simply stood and left.
Watching Suzuki Makoto's back vanish, the elder released his grip. The boy dejectedly hugged his knees.
"Why didn't we follow that lord?"
"What could you do for him?"
The elder countered.
The boy was speechless, squatting back down sullenly.
"That lord is powerful; he goes where he wants, takes what he wants. Why would he abandon that life to stay with useless people like us, guarding our days?"
The rough hand ruffled the boy's head.
"If he weren't here, we'd end up like this anyway. Better to keep living as is. Dreams end, but reality wakes every day."
The boy mumbled in agreement. How could he not have fantasized about power? From food and fun to shelter— but never fighting for strangers' happiness.
Besides, getting these two waterskins was lucky enough to last until the next spring, maybe with rain in between for extra margin.
____
New Story: FGO: Building a Lostbelt from Scratch, the Winner is Canon
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