[755] The Doctrine of Evil (2)
* * *
The Convocation was sliding toward the worst possible outcome.
Even after Gustav Habitz XVII declared war on the world and walked out of the hall, the delegates from each nation remained mute.
"Are we really supposed to believe this? That a world war has broken out at this very moment?"
Vasari, Consul of the Cotria Republic—the host nation of the Convocation—spoke with a pale face.
If Habitz mobilized his forces, the Cotria Republic, nearest to Gustav, would be the first target.
"It's impossible to analyze what Habitz is thinking. But given how driven he is by desire, it's likely true."
Even among the Convocation's delegates, Woorin's words carried weight, and Vasari's face crumpled.
"Why? Isn't this a war he can't possibly win? The Convocation would be hit, but Gustav would be destroyed."
King Kasartak of the Paras Kingdom said.
"At home their calculations put the Gustav Empire's chance of victory below ten percent, assuming he gives up the Valkyries. If he were simply insane, even if he started a war we could crush him."
"He isn't insane."
Everyone at the Convocation turned to Woorin.
"Of course Gustav's chance of winning on the battlefield is vanishingly low. But under certain circumstances, it's over ninety percent."
Emperor Jingang of the Jincheon Empire asked, "What circumstances?"
"The chance that the world will descend into chaos."
Eyes widened around the table.
"What Habitz is aiming for isn't just war. If the Gustav Empire raises troops and spreads across the continent—to the east, to the south—it will be harder to maintain the mental barriers. In the end, the demonkind will break through the barricades and spill into the world—"
From there it was chaos.
"He's trying to push things into an unpredictable situation."
Woorin nodded.
"Habitz acts on instinct, but the Gustav of the Fourth Era already has a picture in his head. If he can create circumstances where probability becomes meaningless, then it's worth trying. And in such a scenario, Habitz's abnormal way of thinking becomes a powerful weapon."
If war consumes everything you can burn through, Gustav's strategy of exploiting the otherworld was brilliant.
'Habitz XVII. A terrifying man. Even more disturbing because he doesn't reason—he just feels.'
If he truly believes the world must revolve around him, the world will be forced to do so.
"Is the matter of humanity concluded here?"
First-rank dragon Blitz rose from his seat.
"We have observed the proper formalities as members of the Convocation. Now I will present the Dragonfolk's agenda."
His tone was arrogantly blunt, and no one felt affronted—he had earned that right.
"One of the Twelve Apostles who guard Time. Among them, a thunderwing dragon reputed strongest in combat."
It was the first time he had come to the Convocation as a representative of the Dragonfolk, and the others leaned in.
"As of today, the Dragonfolk withdraw from the Convocation."
"..."
Anyone could withdraw the way Gustav had if they were willing to pay the price, but a hush spread through the hall.
"May I ask why?"
It was not yet the time to tell humanity.
"The Dragonfolk joined the Convocation to guard time after Anke Ra's reset. Now Ra's will has passed to Nane, and time has reached the verge of being closed. For us, protecting the public order is a priority above opposing evil."
With new axes of love and the public good emerging, the world could no longer be defined by a simple dichotomy of good and evil.
'So it has come to this.'
Nane insisted one must leave for where the true thing exists, while Shirone insisted that the only truth was where one's heart was cast.
'This is only the beginning. From now on, countless beings will redefine themselves according to the compass of Law.'
There would be nations that followed the Gustav Empire—and Convocation states would not be exempt.
Enox, representative of the Faerie folk, asked, "You're withdrawing from the Convocation? Then what are we to do?"
"Why ask me? You're the Faerie representative. If you want to side with humanity, do as you please."
The implication—don't meddle in human affairs—was plain.
"Hmm."
As the representatives of the Seven King Cities watched with stern faces, only Woorin was resolute.
'I will remain with the Convocation.'
Heavenly faeries and fae of the human realm are called fairies and elves. Elves possess mental strength comparable to fairies and, above all, bodies closer to humans.
"The level of magic is incomparable to humans."
It was likely the result of unions between heavenly faeries and the Nor, implying horrific experiments in ages past.
"I will stay with the Convocation. If war breaks out, countless lives will be lost. Naturally, the Faerie folk must help."
Woorin's words sent a chill through the hall.
'What kind of race would give its life for a weaker race?'
If this was called good, it felt too contrived.
"Esteemed Faerie representative, your choice warms the hearts of everyone gathered here."
Enox blushed and stuck out his tongue.
"Hehe, praise at last. Don't worry. Faeries have helped humans since time immemorial. We're not like the noble Dragonfolk."
"Hmph."
Blitz turned away coldly and, before leaving the room, shifted form and soared skyward.
He tore through the ceiling and disappeared; thick chunks of stone crashed down where the round table had been.
"...The worst Convocation."
* * *
Shirone tucked the dagger into his bosom.
'This can't be reconstructed.'
Material can, in theory, make any object because it creates matter. But the significance of lay not in the matter but in the spirit bound within it, and that could not be imitated.
'I could only make a dagger that looks the same.'
Like assembling organic tissue into the shape of a human body—you can mimic the form, but you cannot grant life.
Once Verdi calmed, his mother rose.
"We should clean the house."
Seeing corpses was horrifying even for her, but delay might mean the family's annihilation.
"I'll wash the mop. First, the blood—"
"It's useless, Mother."
Verdi shook his head.
"They'll notice anyway. The houses they take from are already marked. If you don't run now, they'll catch you."
No one would believe an explanation about . Worse than execution was the relentless torture aimed at uncovering the truth.
"Don't worry."
Shirone stepped forward toward Verdi and his mother.
"I don't have , but I'll protect you. Let's think up a plan together. What do you want me to do?"
For a moment hope lit Verdi's face, then despair returned to his eyes.
"Don't lie to us. Why would someone as strong as you help us? We're useless—both Mother and I."
He knew Shirone had come for , not for them.
"I know you'll think I'll leave eventually. Because I'll run out of time, because I'll think I've done enough, because I'll get bored—"
A child raised in hardship seemed to understand the adult world better than many grown men at peace.
"I won't leave."
Shirone patted Verdi with a look of pity.
"I won't go until the means by which you and your family are threatened are completely gone. I promise."
If universal love forbade killing one to save another, Shirone still had to deal with what was happening here.
"Will you really… protect us?"
The duty to protect everyone was a burden, but for now it was enough that they didn't have to be abandoned.
"Of course. I'll never be bothered by it. You're the most valuable person in the world. I'll do everything I can to protect you."
Faced with words and feelings they'd never heard in their lives, Verdi and his mother broke down and cried.
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
Time was short; Shirone steeled himself and looked to the mother.
"Is this the whole family? What about your husband—?"
"No. My husband is in forced labor. He's at a military facility; he should be back in about a month."
A shadow passed over her face.
"No matter how much I asked, he wouldn't say what they had him doing. He said if we knew, the whole family would be killed. But—"
"But?"
"He's not right when he comes home. He won't eat for three days and only sleeps… and he mumbles strange things in his sleep. Like nightmares."
"What does he say?"
She hesitated, embarrassed to speak it, but finally confessed.
"He says, 'I won't bear the child of a monster.'"
"Pardon me, but your husband is—?"
"Yes, he's a man. Verdi's father. But those dreams are strange. This morning he threw things and flew into a rage. That's not like him."
Shirone had his suspicions, but it wasn't something to say in front of Verdi and his mother.
"All right. Let's go find your husband."
Leaving the soldiers' bodies where they lay, Shirone led Verdi and his mother outside.
Even hooded, they'd be suspected, so they climbed the mountain and made a wide detour to the military facility.
'They're really strict here.'
Shirone had sealed altars and dealt with several nations, but he'd never seen such rigid discipline.
"Are you sure we can follow?"
Verdi and his mother clung close behind Shirone, so tense they could hardly breathe.
"I don't know your husband's face. If you see someone you recognize—even if it's not him—tell me."
They skirted the ironclad security and passed about seven barracks before Verdi's mother pointed ahead.
"There—Albas."
He looked like a corpse; the man's eyes were dead as he dragged a cart that smelled of rot.
"He's a friend of my husband's. My goodness—how did someone get so thin?"
The Albas she remembered a month ago had weighed over a hundred kilograms.
"Could you call him?"
Longing to find her husband, she stepped out of the shadows and called.
"Albas. Albas."
Albas, who hadn't even turned his head, suddenly snapped to and looked back in shock.
"Mardel? How are you here—?"
He set down the cart's handle, glanced around, and ran to grab her shoulders.
"Are you out of your mind? What are you doing here? Get back home now!"
"What about my husband? Have you seen him?"
Albas finally noticed Verdi, the weeping woman, and the stranger holding her hand.
"This is maddening. You came to rescue people?"
"That's right. This person is protecting us. Albas, come with us and get out."
Albas bowed his head sullenly.
"Forget it. I don't know what kind of man this fellow is, but Bassetto can't go back anymore. Just raise Verdi well. Tell my family the same."
"You mean he can't return? Surely my husband—!"
Shirone cut him off.
"What are they being made to do here?"
Albas must have been surviving by shutting off thought.
As he fumbled for an answer and finally realized what he'd been doing, his face went white.
"I don't know. I really don't know."
Albas covered his face and sobbed.
"There are… demons living here."