By Zephyria =======
〔Executing. Playing related audio records.〕
The white window floating before Black Weasel folded smoothly. As it unfolded again, new text appeared.
〔Awaiting record item permissions…〕
〔Permissions verified—Connection complete〕
〔Tracking audio record…〕
〔Playing audio〕
In the next moment, Black Weasel flinched as if he had been punched in the gut. A sound suddenly blocked out everything else. A deep, muffled, and overwhelming silence. It was the voice of the river. Without realizing it, Black Weasel clenched his fists.
The silence persisted for a while. Occasionally, the sound of bursting bubbles drifted in like tiny insects. The stillness that had been endlessly pressing against his ears was soon shattered. A blunt presence suddenly pierced through. Then, noise exploded. The sound of splashing waves. The cries of mountain beasts drifting on the wind. The sound of splashing swimming. Coarse cursing.
〔Fuck! Fuck!〕
Black Weasel’s eyes widened. This voice—is it Silver?!
That brat jumped into the river to fish my neck out!
* * *
Black Weasel had been a slave. To be precise, the son of a slave’s son. A third-generation slave.
They say his great-grandfather was a brave warrior. Though his head was taken by a warrior from another tribe. He was probably pissed off. But Black Weasel wasn’t. Nor were his father, mother, or siblings.
What Black Weasel and his family enjoyed as slaves: First, treatment practically equivalent to that of a butler. Second, a decent house and delicious meals. Third, the full trust and love of the tribal chief and his wife.
Black Weasel lived without complaint. Honestly, he believed it was a more practical life than that of the warriors who were mobilized for tribal conflicts and, if unlucky, lost their limbs or, if very unlucky, their heads. At least, until he was twenty-three.
The first misfortune struck out of nowhere.
Late one night, the master and mistress secretly summoned Black Weasel.
“You know, don’t you? All the children we had before were mutants.”
It’s a common story. A childless couple summoning a slave in the middle of the night. A couple who only bore mutants summoning a slave in the middle of the night.
“You will become the biological father of the next tribal chief. We promise to treat you accordingly. However, tonight’s events must remain a secret until you go to your grave.”
Judging by the master’s tone, this wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened. This was the hidden truth behind the generous treatment Black Weasel’s family had received for generations. That night, Black Weasel carried out the “family business” with all his might.
The second misfortune.
A child was born. A son. But he was judged to be a mutant again.
The mistress went mad and ran away with the child. Oh, but before that, she killed the Grandma who was the appraiser. He didn’t know who counted them all, but they said there were as many as thirty-six stab wounds left in the corpse. For several days, the master and Black Weasel stayed up all night drinking heavily together.
The third misfortune.
In the dead of night, another tribe attacked. Everyone in the tribe was slaughtered, leaving only children under ten. Black Weasel lost his parents and siblings and fled. Barely, truly barely.
After that, he fell into a life of wandering. One day, he woke up to find himself being touted as a promising contract killer. While earning his living day by day, he discovered a fact: the sudden tribal raid had been the work of the son of the appraiser Grandma who had been killed by the mistress. That bastard, who had been a priest just like his mother, had reportedly seduced some foolish tribal chief into commissioning the attack.
Black Weasel did not hesitate to carry out his revenge. He kidnapped the opposing tribal chief and the appraiser’s son, killing them slowly using various methods. He tried his best to return exactly what the tribal people had received, though he always wondered if he had paid them back precisely. Regardless, he tried.
After settling the accounts, he returned to his place. Days of loneliness, occasional hunger, constant danger, and repeating meaningless acts. On a lucky day, he would dream of walking through his tribe.
All of this happened before he met Silver again.
〔Fuck! Dammit!〕
Following Silver’s cursing, bursts of laughter and whistling erupted. These were the warriors watching Silver from the warship. Wolf’s voice followed.
〔Don’t go!〕
〔Come back! Come back, please!〕
“Stop!”
Black Weasel spat out.
“That’s enough! I’ve grasped the situation, so kill the sound!”
〔Confirmed. Ending audio playback.〕
The sound cut off abruptly. Black Weasel spun around once and then headed toward the village. He grew increasingly anxious. The weight of time, which he had momentarily forgotten amidst the chain of absurd and mindless events, finally pressed down on his entire body.
Five years.
It was a long time. Above all, it had been two years since Silver awakened as a spruce tree. Director Erem’s voice echoed confusingly in Black Weasel’s ears.
‘According to one legend, a spruce tree that drinks the blood of an ash tree will no longer experience heat.’
‘It doesn’t disappear completely; a strong reactivity remains toward the individual who provided the blood. Though that’s only when they are close to each other.’
‘A lot of blood isn’t needed. The legend only says the spruce tree sucked a little blood that flowed from an ash tree’s injured finger.’
He had fed Silver a spoonful of Wolf’s blood while Silver was asleep. However.
‘Since it’s a legend, the exact amount might differ. In an extreme case, it might require a whole bathtub full.’
If the required amount wasn’t a spoonful but a whole bathtub, then by now, Silver would be…
‘In many legends, there are numerous cases where mutants were offered as “sacred sacrifices.” Interestingly, there are also many records of mutants voluntarily participating in the rituals.’
‘Cats and dogs go wild during their heat, don’t they? Mutants must have been a nuisance in tribal society. The pretext of offering them to a god would have been the most convenient and rational means of isolation. The mutants probably accepted it willingly, believing it to be the best option to end their recurring physiological pain.’
‘Additionally, in many legends, the most frequent final act of a mutant is suicide.’
Suicide.
Black Weasel’s pace quickened instinctively. No. No! My son, born with a genius talent as a warrior, the only successor who must one day rebuild the tribe, couldn’t have…
The village drew near. Black Weasel charged toward the first house that caught his eye. With one kick, the door flew open and collapsed. A family eating inside froze, staring at him with spoons still held to their mouths.
After enough time had passed to empty a cask of ale, Black Weasel stepped out of the house with a confident stride. Unlike when he entered, he was well-dressed and wore a heavy pouch of silver coins at his waist. Behind him, the sound of a baby crying and curses that would make a sailor blush followed loudly.
“Tsk, making such a fuss just because I borrowed some clothes and money.”
Black Weasel brushed off his robe with his fingertips. He snatched up an axe embedded in a tree stump in front of the house and trudged along.
“Hey, evil spirit.”
〔I am a tool.〕
“Huh? You actually answer? Didn’t you say your only mission was to bring me back to life?”
〔Acknowledged.〕
“Then why do you keep talking to me?”
〔First, there are no existing regulations prohibiting linguistic exchange with the host entity. Second, you spoke to me.〕
“What does host entity mean… whatever. Anyway, you’re saying you can be a conversation partner?”
〔Correct.〕
Black Weasel racked his brain. Chatting with an evil spirit—he had never imagined it. If he played this right, could he use it for gathering information?
“Let me ask one thing. You said This World doesn’t recognize those who have been resurrected more than once as existing beings, right? Why is that?”
He threw out a random question as a test. An answer came immediately.
〔Based on statistical evidence and observational information. This is because biological resurrections that align with the natural order occur with considerable frequency in This World.〕
〔Example: Subject experiences cardiac arrest due to myocardial infarction, reaching a state of clinical biological death. Other humans immediately apply chest compressions and airway management. Circulatory function is restored within the permissible time. Subject returns to operational state.〕
〔Therefore, a single resurrection is not recognized as an error in This World. However, if the same object repeats resurrection two or more times, it is judged as “unauthorized external intervention,” and after review, the error is corrected.〕
〔That error correction is the
Even amidst the flood of difficult words, the context became clear. Sweat beaded on Black Weasel’s temples. He felt as if he had glimpsed a terrifying secret.
“Hey, what you just said… seems like some pretty important information. Is it okay to just blabber about it like this? What if I spread rumors?”
〔Calculating expected reaction… Result: Social isolation.〕
〔Summary: High probability that only you will be branded a lunatic.〕
He couldn’t argue with that. Black Weasel thought a bit more before speaking.
“Then, about Silver Wolf, who was erased along with me. Did he forget me or have his memories distorted like other people?”
〔Calculating… Conclusion: Low probability.〕
“He still remembers me? Why?”
〔Your memories are intact. There is a high probability that Silver Wolf, who underwent the existence erasure process in the same manner, also maintains memory integrity.〕
In other words, Silver had not forgotten his biological father. And his past was wiped clean as a bonus! Black Weasel’s heart throbbed with relief and joy. He hadn’t wanted it, but he was really glad he died.
Now he just had to find Silver. But how?
He pushed aside the desperate possibility of suicide. Whose son was he? He was the kind of brat who would endure a heat even if he had to chain his own ankles. Therefore, he would focus solely on finding Silver. It didn’t matter if he happened to die again. He could be resurrected two more times, so there was plenty of time.
71 – Hell Execution Order