Fremd Torturchen - Volume 4 - Chapter SS

Thus, He Spoke

He dreamed.

A dream of long, long ago.

He was being held up in a pair of warm, white arms.

From the moment he was created, he had been complete.

He was unseemly, and completely different from all other living creatures. Because of that, he’d never had a chance to rely on the assistance of another. He’d never had the body of an infant. So that was the first and final time in his long, long life that someone had ever held him.

Back when the world was yet white, he was the first thing they’d created.

No matter how long he lived, he would never forget what he’d seen as he first attained awareness in those slender arms.

It was but the faintest of memories, but it came to define the entire rest of his life.

It was the reason he’d accepted the demon flesh.

She’d appeared one day carrying a lump of something swaddled in red cloth. This was before she had ever shed tears of blood, or was hung upside down, or was spoken of far and wide.

She’d cast an affectionate smile toward the thing in the cloth, the kind one might offer to a baby.

Within it was a dark-crimson mound of flesh.

She was carrying demon flesh.

The moment he saw it, he grasped just how deep her madness and malice ran.

But when she passed it to him with the reverence one would have for their own child, he took it and held it tight. And even knowing how horrible it was, how profane it was, he protected it so as to pass it on to future generations.

Even knowing how wrong everything was becoming, that was the choice he made.

This is a story from long, long ago.

It is a tale too horrible to be called Genesis, too tragic.

That was why he chose to call it a fairy tale.

Despite the grand role he’d been assigned, he had no name.

She had never thought to give him one.

In his heart, he knew. He knew exactly how little he meant to her.

She felt no need to name him, nor even give him a nickname. She had no reason to call for him. As long as he acted as her apostle, that was all she needed from him.

After all, he was nothing more than another one of the seeds of evil she’d planted.

He was one of the seeds she’d buried away in the nooks and crannies of the paint-covered canvas. He wasn’t even allowed to die of his own volition. That was how meager of an existence he was.

But even though he’d known that, he still took his order to heart and lived his life accordingly.

It was almost too long a time to be considered “life,” however.

Even meaningless battles can lead to valuable encounters. In following with his other order, he fought to solidify human society and build a foundation for the circulation of goods.

The foundation of the Five Great Guilds brought a degree of peace to the land, but the battle against the Legend Dragon and the war over the rights to the Mana Egg were nevertheless fierce in the extreme.

There was also no shortage of people who named themselves in the same fashion as he, such as the Egg Seller and the Fishmonger, and they fought among themselves a great deal. But thanks to various turns of events, they helped give stability to the trade routes he’d pioneered.

He’d met countless people, and it was impossible to count all those he’d parted ways with.

They’d all been his friends, but in a much greater sense, they’d all just been his enemies. He’d run into people from all walks of life and shared drinks, songs, and journeys with them. Even though he was the world’s enemy, he worked hard as a merchant to help it flourish.

Now, those bygone days seemed like they’d been mere fleeting phantoms of the past.

Ah, the memories… Good heavens, though, I’m rather impressed I was able to sleep in a position such as this. Perhaps singing my own praises is gauche, but I suppose there’s nobody left to listen anyways, is there?

Having just opened his eyes inside the Gibbet, the Butcher found himself lost in idle thought.

Say, for instance, the five thousand men he’d had under his command.

Say, for instance, the ten thousand friends he’d made.

Say, for instance, the three people he’d held great affection for.

If someone were to ask him, “Did you ever find it painful,

when you looked at them and saw how radiant they were?”

He would assuredly answer “No.”

Just that one word. No.

He’d truly had fun along the way. And the joy it had brought him had been real as well.

Especially as of late—the days he’d spent in the castle he’d visited and surveyed had been exceptional. He’d grown fond of the little trio, and he’d really loved idly dropping by to make merry.

He enjoyed it when customers appreciated his goods, and it brought him joy to hear them espouse how delicious they were. He was sad when they got hurt, and thrilled when they thanked him.

But there was nothing more to it than that.

That was something the Butcher could say decisively.

“If Mr. Dim-Witted Servant were here, I’m sure he’d describe that as sad. What a good-hearted young man he is.”

The Butcher muttered quietly to himself from within the Gibbet. He’d liked him so much that he’d given them a hand looking after the lovely automaton, even going so far as to lend her his strength.

The Butcher then skillfully shifted his weight, causing the cramped cage to rock. Its sturdy chain rattled and creaked. After giving up on that strategy, the Butcher looked out over the room. Not even scraps remained from his earlier feast.

According to Elisabeth, the troll arm had been dreadful. However, the rare slime-steak had been surprisingly palatable. The dragon tail, on the other hand, had been far too tough. It had gotten the worst reception of them all.

He’d had little reason to come out of his way and cook meat for the Torture Princess. Yet he had. And this was what had become of him. Even so, though, he had no regrets.

He didn’t think of it as sad at all.

The time had always been coming, and now it had come. That was all there was to it.

“…For that is the type of creature I am, after all.”

All for you, my dear customers.

And all for one.

He’d lived his life up until then by those two contradictory principles.

And in all likelihood, he’d keep doing so to the very end.

Say, for instance, the five thousand men he’d had under his command all died.

Say, for instance, the ten thousand friends he’d made all perished.

Say, for instance, the three people he’d held great affection for all went to their slumber furious.

If none of them ever smiled at him again,

that would surely be painful.

But there had only ever been one moment in which his life had been given meaning.

“…Now then, as the enemy of the world, I suppose I’d best start acting the part.”

Suddenly, the Butcher let out a murmur.

Then he spat out an intricately tangled wire from within the darkness of his hood. Then, still standing, he dislocated his wrist. With movements no human could have executed, he wriggled his limp arm and began using the wire to fiddle with the Gibbet’s door.

Eventually, the lock clicked open.

For just a moment, the Butcher narrowed his eyes.

The moment he left would truly mark the beginning of the end.

He would have to start acting in a manner befitting the enemy of all that lived.

And for that reason, he let out a faint murmur.

“I thoroughly enjoyed myself, Madam Elisabeth, Ms. Lovely Maid, Mr. Dim-Witted Servant. That’s as true as true can be. The living need fun in order to keep on living, after all. And when I watched you all fight back against it, you were truly, truly radiant. Even so…”

The Butcher threw the door open wide. His voice went low when he finally picked up where he’d left off.

“…Even so, the fairy tale must come to an end.”

And then, with a tap,

the enemy of the world hopped down onto the stone floor.