All History (1)
'There it is.'
Tess ran through the vast shadow cast by the living flower's petals.
Even as she covered the three hundred meters in a flash, the surrounding flowers were catching fire from the glare.
Finding the ancient weapon the enemy had stolen was easy.
A group of troops that looked like elite demons guarded the side Tess was running toward.
Their vigilance wasn't as tight as she'd expected.
'My father's enemy.'
The thought of demons made her blood boil, but the longer she hesitated, the more damage the living flower would suffer.
Tess stamped the ground and generated an antigravity surge; her body rose with a whoosh.
By the time the demons turned their heads, she was already clinging to one of the flower's stalks.
She ran vertically along the stem.
By the time the sounds of the battlefield had faded, a dark flock flew in from the far side of the sky.
"Ka-aa! Ka-aa!" A human-faced crow with black feathers.
'This is as far as I can go.'
Realizing that, Tess found the nearest entrance and slipped into the flower.
There were demons guarding the interior, but their lines of sight weren't close enough to spot her.
She silently took out a few of them and concealed the bodies, then climbed up…
"Oi! Oi!"
A shrill woman's scream followed an excited old man's voice.
"Please forgive me! Please!"
It was the control room.
The woman who had moved along the ceiling like a spider peeked her face out from above the threshold.
"Puhahaha! This is seriously fun. They do exactly what we tell them, don't they?"
Veins stood out at Tess's temples.
Gustaf Fourth Company—Smodo and Zettaro.
Smodo, who tormented members of the Fire clan, was a grotesque pervert, and Zettaro, who watched over the operations, didn't seem to care about anything.
"Smodo, don't get so worked up. Your attacks keep missing."
Given the Fire clan's trait of feeling most secure when obeyed, there was no need for threats or elaborate torture to make them comply.
'They're enjoying this.'
Tess had learned countless torture methods during her spy training, but what these men were doing wasn't aimed at extracting information.
A woman of the Fire clan pleaded.
"Just kill me. Please…"
"Puhahaha! Zettaro, did you hear? This woman still thinks she's alive! Hey, you—want me to show you in a mirror what condition you're in?"
"Smodo, stop the operation…"
Zettaro sighed and turned his head. His eyes widened.
"Watch out!"
"Huh?"
As Smodo glanced back toward the entrance, Tess's kick snapped up and struck his jaw.
"Ugh!"
Several of his teeth flew toward the ceiling as Smodo's body flipped over.
"You fucking bastards!"
Putting her rising rage on hold for a moment, Tess checked the Fire clan woman.
"Are you okay? Hey!"
The woman's eyes were rolled back; her head lolled to the side.
'She's dead.'
Zettaro, hauling Smodo to his feet, clicked his tongue.
"What a pity. Such a young lass… Rest in peace, I suppose."
A dizzy, hot surge hit Tess.
"…Is this a joke?"
Even feeling intense killing intent on her skin, Zettaro remained calm.
"Is all this a joke to you?" Tess demanded.
"You—"
Smodo, missing several teeth, wiped blood from his mouth and spat.
"Nice figure, though."
Tess felt nauseating irritation.
"You rank in the top 1.78 percent of women I've seen. Judging by weight—"
Before he could finish, Tess's fist snapped into Smodo's jaw.
Seeing him collapse, Zettaro scowled.
"You brought this on yourself… ugh!"
Tess grabbed Zettaro by the hair and smashed his face against the control room wall like a hammer.
Even after only a few blows, Zettaro's face was a red mask.
"You bastards! Filthy bastards!" When Zettaro's resistance faded, Tess flung his limp body to the floor.
Zettaro thudded down like a corpse, and Smodo crawled across the floor with split lips.
"Ow—how can a woman punch that hard? Aaah!"
Tess raised her sabre and drove it into his calf.
"Does it hurt?"
With his calf impaled and the sabre driven deep into the floor, she stepped closer to Smodo's face.
"Hurt? Is that all? Is that why you're screaming?"
"Ahh… ahh…"
Even his trembling hands made her revile him.
Tess seized his index finger and crushed it.
"Try getting the same treatment."
She snapped his middle finger until it bent at a right angle.
"Ahhhh! It hurts! It hurts!"
"Yes. That's pain."
She broke another finger.
"Ai-ya! I'm gonna die! This is elder abuse!"
"Shut up."
After breaking a total of six fingers between both hands, Smodo had no strength left to struggle. He buried his face in the floor and sobbed.
"It hurts. It hurts so much. Please forgive me."
"Forgive? Did you show mercy to that woman?"
"I—I did something wrong…"
Tess felt her heart about to burst, but she couldn't name the emotion suffusing her.
"How does it feel to be on the receiving end? Fun, was it? Is this fun? Tearing up bodies, inflicting pain, listening to screams—was that so entertaining, you bastard!"
A heavy silence followed.
"Doing it for fun is third-rate."
"What?"
Smodo lifted his head, annoyance plain on his face.
"Doing it because it's fun is third-rate, you scum."
Tess's skin crawled at the look that showed not an ounce of remorse.
"What are you… really? If it's not for fun, then why do you do this?"
Smodo bared his teeth and laughed.
"Because we can." Freedom.
"Smodo, are you in your room?"
Whenever her mother entered Smodo's room, her throat tightened.
Her twelve-year-old son.
He hadn't caused any outward trouble, but perhaps the trouble had already taken root in his mind.
"Yes, I'm here. I'm not coming out."
"That's not why I'm here." As any ordinary parent, Smodo's mother lied and opened the door.
Seeing the white wall covered with dense vertical lines made her head swim.
The objects positioned at exact coordinates on those lines pained her heart.
"Relatives came to visit."
Smodo had severe compulsions.
Since infancy he'd needed the same feeding bottle, the length pencils wore each day was set, and if the books weren't arranged in order on the shelf, there would be a scene.
"Have a nice time and go. I'm staying here."
'His mind is extraordinary,' she thought.
That alone was enough to make Smodo someone she still had to protect.
"Sigh. Smodo, how long are you going to stay like this? I know your obsessions are bad, but you can overcome them. You'll be a great person one day. You hardly go to school, but you always top the exams."
Smodo didn't answer, but she saw the conflict in him.
"Come on, let's go. Just greet the relatives and come back."
"You promise?"
Her face brightened.
"Just a greeting, okay?" She gently tugged his wrist, and Smodo, pretending he couldn't refuse, followed.
On the first floor, Smodo's father chatted with relatives.
"Oh? Brother Smodo!"
Children of similar age played tag.
But to Smodo, they were just objects in a space—things that moved within it.
As he came down the stairs, he noticed salt spilled across the snack table.
It looked like one of the kids had knocked over the salt shaker while running.
Staring at the table as if trying to pierce it, Smodo turned when his aunt called his name.
"Long time no see, Smodo. Do you remember me?"
"Yes."
Smodo didn't forget shapes of objects.
"Except for the wrinkle by the left eye, maybe."
There were endless details he held back from listing.
"Hohoho! You're quite amusing. I hear you're so good at studying."
His mother hinted.
"Yes. I got first place again."
"My, Smodo goes to Gustaf Public, right? I heard it's only for geniuses."
"He's still young. I hope he becomes an important person in the Empire…"
Even while listening to the adults, Smodo's gaze kept returning to the table.
"Hahaha! Run! Run!"
The children's feet thudded as they ran.
"Eek! You're caught!"
Salt bounced.
For a moment, all sound disappeared and every mind focused on the salt.
He felt like he was going mad.
His heart raced, every nerve stood on end. Then—
Thud.
A child kicked the table as he ran past.
"Argh!"
By the time the adults turned toward Smodo's scream, he was already rushing and pushing the child aside.
"Smodo!"
The fallen child cried and his mother shouted, but Smodo knelt at the table and fussed over the salt as if nothing else mattered.
"Damn it! It's all mixed up!" The absurdity of it swallowed any thought of having shoved the child.
"Smodo, what are you doing?"
"The salt's all mixed. It was in specific spots; I have to put it back. This was here, this grain—yes, here!"
"Salt…?"
A thin edge of menace crept into his mother's voice.
"Damn it! This needs to be piled. I need tweezers."
She knew he had compulsions, but watching her son sort through salt was beyond ordinary OCD.
'My son isn't mad,' she choked out.
"Smodo, it's just salt. It spilled."
"No. Size, shape, color—each grain is different."
Before he finished, his mother stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder.
Then with all her strength she slapped his cheek.
"What is wrong with you? What are you so unhappy about?!" She didn't care who was watching.
"Are you stupid? Are you an idiot? Why do you live like this?! Why live like this?!"
Smodo moved as she directed.
Slaps and yelling—he didn't resent her.
Having lived his whole life in compulsion, it was a trivial thing to him.
'What am I?????'
The essential question occupied the child's mind.
'What kind of world do I live in?'
Whether error, blessing, or curse, it felt as if he'd been trapped in the very framework that made this world.
Tess repeated, "Because you can… you do it?"
"Yeah. That's freedom. You broke my finger, right? You can do it because you can."
"You're saying that as an excuse—"
Smodo shouted as he broke his own finger.
"I can do this!"
Tess frowned.
"What's the problem? If it's wrong, the world shouldn't have been made this way in the first place. Complain to the maker! You do it because you can—so why bitch at me? Why the hell are you yelling at me?!"
Shouting, Smodo pushed himself up on his broken hand.
"Arghhhh!"
The sabre had torn his calf muscle, but he staggered upright and lifted his shirt.
He wasn't wearing anything below.