By the Grace of the Gods (LN) - Volume 15 - Chapter 15

Chapter 9, Episode 24: Memories of a Monster

The monster was born out of magical energy. With no parents or bloodline, perhaps it was more of a phenomenon than a living being. Even the monster itself had no memory of its birth. One day, it just simply existed.

When the monster came to be in the ruined manor deep in the Sea of Trees, it had no sense of purpose or self. What it did know was the long history of Korumi from its establishment to its demise. With only the faint flickers of memories to go on, the monster managed to spend its earlier years wandering the manor. As an entity born of magical energy, the monster didn’t require any sleep or sustenance. It spent its days snaring the souls of villagers trapped in the village and giving them rotting bodies with which to reenact their lives. On the rare occasion when something living found its way into the village, the monster welcomed it into its throng.

The monster had noticed Ryoma shortly after he and his companion arrived at the village. When it sensed the commotion of the Undead in the village, the monster wasn’t concerned at all. In fact, its heart swelled with excitement.

What’s going on? Will they come in? 

When it saw Glen running through the village the next morning, the monster was elated to discover the newcomers were human. It wasn’t often that humans found their way this deep into their woods—only a handful of adventurers and outlaws who overextended and lost themselves in the forest had come before. Hardly any creatures of the woods, let alone any humans, had wound up in the village since the monster began releasing hordes of Undead.

How long has it been? What kind of people are they? 

When Ryoma and Glen began luring Undead to their trap, the monster watched from the manor window. It knew that humans proactively hunted Undead, but it had never seen anyone trap such a large horde as they did. It was a risky endeavor for them, according to how the monster remembered humans normally went about hunting Undead, but the pair of humans survived—they were powerful adventurers.

The realization turned to wariness when the humans approached the manor. The monster sealed the gates and called in as many villagers as it could to fortify its defenses, but none could hold up in a fight against the humans. Even more dismaying, the monster couldn’t retrieve the villagers’ souls.

They’re not...coming back. 

The villagers were taken out on a daily basis by the various dangers of the Sea of Trees. Whenever beasts of the forest destroyed a villager’s temporary body, the monster only needed to retrieve their soul and place it in a new one. That was why the villagers could reenact their lives and go out to hunt despite the deadly threats that lurked in the woods—why the monster had structured its village this way.

So, the monster was beginning to wonder why the souls of the villagers didn’t return to it when they were taken by the pair of humans. It decided to open the manor’s doors to lure them in and make them villagers—that would let the monster read their memories and discover what happened to the souls of those captured by the adventurers.

When Ryoma stepped into the manor, though, the monster was astonished at how difficult it was to read his memory. The fragments it had been able to pick up featured a type of civilization he’d never known. Memories of a world beyond its comprehension were shocking enough, but it was even more astonished by the gods’ request that had brought Ryoma here.

After giving bodies to the souls of the dead villagers and watching them reenact their lives, the monster knew enough about the gods. Although it had never spoken with or seen a god before, it understood that they were beings on a plane above itself. Now, they had sent someone who seemed like a young boy on a mission to exterminate its existence. At that point, the monster recognized Ryoma as a clear threat and utilized its full power in an attempt to subdue him.

Why...? Why?! 

Its plans had failed, and the monster stood face-to-face with Ryoma with nothing but a small portion of the villagers to shield him from the unstoppable swordsman. The illusions it conjured only served to enrage Ryoma, who’d sliced through familiar faces that contributed to the best and worst memories of his life.

“You’ve shown me enough trash for a couple of lifetimes,” Ryoma said.

The monster grunted. “Take out that intruder!” it commanded with the voice of a skeletal elder, sending the villagers to swarm Ryoma—who dodged all of their attacks with expert fluidity, cutting them down with his Light-coated blade.

What is he after? What will he do next? The monster attempted to read Ryoma’s thoughts and failed. He’s too fast! 

Ryoma’s mind had been difficult to infiltrate from the start, and his movements were now directed by reflex rather than thought. Ryoma’s concentration in the battle made his reaction time too fast for the monster to do anything about them, even if it could tap into Ryoma’s thoughts.

Fortunately for the monster, the souls of the villagers slain in the manor returned to him, unlike the ones he sent beyond the gates. It was impossible for the monster to leave the manor, so retreat wasn’t an option. He called upon and resurrected villager after villager to sic on the intruder, casting illusions on their faces to disguise them as people from Ryoma’s memories, hoping against hope that some of them would slow him down for even a moment.

“Give it up, already,” Ryoma said.

Still, the monster fought back the inevitable with every ounce of its power. The skill level of a villager varied depending on the life they had lived, but the monster couldn’t afford to be picky. As it summoned any soul it could get its hands on, the monster couldn’t shake its confusion.

Why? Why? Why? 

In short, the monster was too inexperienced. His knowledge of how people lived their lives when Korumi thrived was just that, and didn’t amount to any real experience of a life. It had only been in its current form and able to snare human souls for a few years. Because of its powerful ability, the monster had never faced resistance like this—someone who could withstand its power—nor did it ever have a mentor in combat. Ryoma was the very first thing in its existence that didn’t go its way.

What can I do? What can I do? 

This should have been an even match. No human, the monster supposed, had unlimited stamina or magical energy. As long as it could infinitely resurrect the villagers, it had an edge in a match of attrition. Still, an indescribable fear tormented the monster, even more than the knowledge that Ryoma had been sent by the gods to kill it.

Then, one of the villagers slowed. Its temporary body with no life to lose and no heart to falter, wrapped in a perpetual illusion, trembled. It wasn’t an attempt to rebel against its commander, but an instinctual response. While the trembling villager tried to the best of its ability to hold off Ryoma, the trembling spread through the others like an infection. Little by little, Ryoma was closing in. Some villagers even froze in place.

I know this. I don’t know it, but I know. No, no, no, no, no, no—

Shaped by their souls, the villagers retained memories more than other Undead, making them act on their emotions, which had allowed the monster to control them with its illusions. Now, an overwhelming fear was drowning them, illusion and all. The monster, too, felt the dark tide of fear rising as the battlefront approached him step by step.

“What are you?!” it bellowed, utterly useless against its impending doom. Useless. The word rang in its consciousness as it finally understood the root of its fear. That’s not human. Whatever it is, it’s not human. It was something the monster knew vicariously but had never experienced—the villagers all had. All living beings instinctually feared that thing that came in many forms and at any time: monster, natural disaster, illness...

It’s...death. 

Death incarnate approached the monster. Powerful fear surged through its fake skin, the need to run clashed with the hopelessness that there was no escape within itself. At that moment, the last of the villagers fell, and the monster’s eyes met Ryoma’s.

The monster shrieked and ran before it could form another thought. There was nowhere to run, yet it couldn’t help but try, fleeing behind a door behind itself. But a closed door didn’t keep Ryoma at bay for so much as a second. A heartbeat later, Ryoma stormed into the same room.

No no no no no no no no...! In desperation, the monster created more villagers in the room. Even if they would end up immobilized with fear, the monster had no other tools in its arsenal. All it could do was summon Undead after Undead with its vast pool of magical energy, slapping on faces that it hoped Ryoma would hesitate to hurt.

“Ryoma! Wait!”

“Slime bro!”

“Ryoma!”

“Chief!”

“Ryoma! Stop it!”

“Ryoma, calm down.”

The residents of Gimul, his employees, a child he met on a trip...and the Jamils. People Ryoma met in his second life and who gave him countless memories all cried for him to stop his rampage.

“Cutting Tornado.” Every Undead was lost to the violent winds of a tornado, their faces and voices wiped away.

Bearing the wind, the monster saw in its agony—Ryoma sprinting and charging through the whirlwind-cleared path, leading the attack with his swordpoint. In that instance, two thoughts flashed in the monster’s mind. There’s nowhere to run, and I don’t want to die. 

The monster made its final stand. In the face of death—feeling the blade about to end its existence—the monster created an illusion from the dredges of its power: a recreation of memories that belonged to all the people the monster watched live and die.

With a swell of deep, dense darkness, the concept of death itself engulfed the room.