The sentry standing watch from a high vantage point spotted a man appearing on the road ahead.
This man was clean and neat, clearly not someone from Zaraki District. The only thing giving him a somewhat local flavor was the three swords at his side. Here, weapons and food were the true hard currency.
"Hey, you look pretty strong. Want to join our boss? There's plenty of water, and food depends on your strength and merits."
He called out with interest to recruit him. Snatching three swords in Zaraki wasn't rare, but keeping such clean clothes intact proved real strength.
Suzuki Makoto looked up, then closed his eyes.
His perception sharpened along with the Reishi in the air. He could even hear the shouts, cries, and screams from the camp. Those specks that were once mere presences gradually took on human forms, revealing their full selves in laughter, anger, and curses.
He gripped the sword at his waist.
"You're here to challenge us?"
The sentry's face turned serious as he reached to sound the alarm bell, only to be shocked that he could no longer lift his arm.
What is this...
Before his thoughts could reach his body, his head gently slid off, blood spraying forth.
Suzuki Makoto stepped over the collapsed wooden wall. The elder's words echoed: there was no kindness here, only evil and greater evil.
But Suzuki Makoto believed it shouldn't be like this.
In a world where most people could survive on water alone, if it was still filled with the law of the jungle, the problem lay with the world itself.
If so, why not change it?
He had come here only to strengthen himself, so an Asauchi seized in battle and one issued from Shin'ō Spiritual Arts Academy seemed no different.
People shouted and cursed one after another, charging at Suzuki Makoto with weapons, only for their heads to slide off silently in death.
Death quickly shattered the morale of this ragtag mob. They huddled tightly around their leader, yet even they retreated step by step before the advancing Suzuki Makoto.
"No retreating! Charge! Whoever kills him becomes my second-in-command—full belly for a year, slaves to pick at will!"
The leader bellowed with false bravado. He knew he wasn't Suzuki Makoto's match but couldn't bear to abandon his base, hoping sheer numbers might overwhelm him.
These were his final words.
Seeing their leader beheaded, the thugs instantly scattered. Some immediately thought to flee, while the smarter ones knelt and prostrated themselves in submission to Suzuki Makoto.
Those who fled soon congratulated their own cleverness, for without exception, the escapees lost their heads, bodies convulsing as they fell.
Whether their cleverness would truly spare their lives still depended on their past conduct.
Suzuki Makoto eyed the slaves slowly gathering around. Their gazes remained numb, holding no hope for change in their circumstances. Yet when they looked at the heads on the ground, at least anger and vengeance flickered in their eyes.
"I'm Suzuki Makoto. From now on, I'm the leader of all of you—bind these people and drag them to the central clearing."
The slaves moved in small groups. Even the wounded gritted their teeth through the pain, venting it all on the bindings. Wails rose everywhere for a time.
In the meantime, Suzuki Makoto rooted out some hidden culprits and tossed them into the center, releasing all the prisoners as well.
Once everyone stood in the central clearing, Suzuki Makoto arrived dragging a cart full of water buckets.
Throats couldn't help but swallow—only dry saliva went down.
"Come drink. One ladle each. Line up properly."
Suzuki Makoto stood by the buckets and addressed them.
A bold one stepped forward, bowed deeply to Suzuki Makoto, then carefully took a ladle, scooped some water, and drank it down heartily.
Seeing someone lead, they surged forward but dared not truly shove. Everyone lined up orderly. After all, during the bindings, those heads had rolled real on the ground. Even attempted escapees met instant decapitation.
The man before them seemed to have a merciful heart, but no one doubted his overwhelming strength.
Once everyone had drunk—even the children—Suzuki Makoto approached the bound ones.
"Now, tell me: among these people, who oppressed you, killed your kin or friends, took pleasure in tormenting you?"
The anger that had once burned in these numb eyes erupted instantly. With their new leader's affirmation, they immediately pointed out the true villains among them.
Suzuki Makoto pulled them out one by one, confirmed with the victims, then executed them one after another.
Surprisingly, over a dozen of the bound survived afterward. From the freed slaves' accounts, these were peripherals or recent joiners without slaves of their own. Only one was an internal minor leader, but he was lazy and slippery, uninterested in bullying others. Even those who served him held no hatred, instead grateful for the full water rations he allowed.
Even more unexpectedly, when Suzuki Makoto released them and let them choose to stay or go, all chose to remain.
From the mindset of most in Zaraki, this made perfect sense: the strong had the right to rule all, and following the strong meant better survival.
"From today, no more slaves. Everyone here is a resident, and we'll accept all who wish to live here. But all residents who commit crimes will face fitting punishment. Except for the elderly and children, everyone must labor for their water and food."
These words stunned everyone. By their ingrained logic, they couldn't immediately process such orders.
But since it was Suzuki Makoto speaking, they simply obeyed.
Suzuki Makoto turned to the sole surviving minor leader.
"What's your name?"
"The lowly one is called Gosuke."
"Gosuke, you can read and keep records, right?"
"Yes."
The man nodded. Suzuki Makoto raised his voice again.
"Everyone, register your name and age with Gosuke. Starting tomorrow, while we repair and rebuild, he'll explain the rules I've set."
____
New Story: FGO: Building a Lostbelt from Scratch, the Winner is Canon
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