Chapter 16

The night in Enichide, as always, was shrouded in the veil of twilight, just as it had been when they first stepped down from the carriage.

The sparse lights of the houses seemed darker than yesterday, perhaps because the two were exhausted.

The sound of dry sand being kicked up echoed through the quiet, deserted street.

Their steps were heavy, but the thought that they were almost at the inn kept their will to move forward from waning.

Turning the last corner, the inn, which could hardly be called beautiful, finally came into view.

Thinking of her face waiting for their return, a smile appeared on Flamm's lips.

But the light was off in Stud's house next door.

Was he already asleep?

No, even if that were the case, it was probably too early, and it would be more natural to think he was out.

As Flamm was about to pass by the pitch-black building, she stopped.

Sera, who had taken a step forward without noticing, turned around and looked at her, who had suddenly stopped moving.

"What's wrong?"

Flamm turned her head like a tin doll, and with a dead expression, she stared at the entrance of the house.

Her face quickly turned pale.

The house with no lights on.

The front door, unlocked and half-open.

Through the lace curtains, a cup that had fallen and remained on the dining table could be faintly seen.

Flamm verified the logic in her mind.

Dain's subordinates had used magic to trap the two in a cave.

They had already heard from the old woman at the shop that it was a cave where monsters appeared, and no one who had returned had ever come back.

In other words, they must have thought Flamm and Sera were already dead.

So, what would the men who returned to Enichide in high spirits do?

Flamm walked towards Stud's house, guided by the faint smell of blood.

They were just a group of outlaws who called themselves adventurers.

Dain, being an A-rank adventurer and having connections with the guild, could do as he pleased in the western district.

They could easily commit theft, as they had stolen Reach's bag.

In a small town without the eyes of the church knights or guards, they would do it without hesitation.

She opened the door.

The smell of iron became stronger.

She searched for the light switch by touch, channeled magic, and turned it on.

No, theft was just the beginning; they had done far worse.

Fraud, assault, and even murder.

To some extent, Dain's power could cover it up.

But this time, with the theft of Reach's bag, there was no room for manipulation, and one of their companions was captured by the church knights.

What did they think of this?

Stepping into the house with her shoes on, the wooden floor creaked.

She entered the room with the dining table, which she had seen through the window from outside.

There were signs of a struggle everywhere.

On the floor, there were smears of blood—someone had probably crawled, bleeding, from the chair to the entrance of the room where Flamm was standing.

She followed the trail with her eyes.

The red path led her to the end of the corridor, as if guiding her.

This punishment was unjust.

They were judged for a crime that should not have been punished.

If a companion was unjustly imprisoned, they must seek revenge.

That was why they had trapped Flamm and the others in the cave and tried to kill them.

She walked down the corridor, creaking with each step, and arrived at the bedroom.

Flamm cautiously opened the half-open door.

The rusty hinges groaned.

But death was not enough.

Because to them, murder was a crime that could be covered up.

Killing someone would not satisfy their anger.

So, they took everything, even life, from those who had only a slight connection, just because they were involved.

The logical deduction ended here.

All that was left was to match the scene before her eyes with the conclusion.

As expected.

Just as she had feared.

On the bed, a fat man lay dead, his neck cut.

It was Stud, the innkeeper.

An innocent man who had done nothing wrong, who had only provided lodging for Flamm and the others, living peacefully in the countryside.

He had been killed just for money, by a mere embodiment of desire.

"A... aaaaah..."

There was a sense of self-reproach for involving others, but more than that, a boiling, dark emotion.

"Aaaaaah, aaaaaahhhh!"

She would never forgive them.

She roared, spewing out her emotions.

She raged against the evil.

But the root of it all was not "justice."

It was a terribly egotistical, twisted "dependence" that could hardly be called love.

In other words, it was anger directed not at the corpse, but at the horrific tragedy that was about to unfold, or was already unfolding.

Flamm, overwhelmed by her explosive emotions, forgot her fatigue and ran out of Stud's house at full speed.

"O-Oh, miss!?"

Leaving the bewildered Sera behind, she rushed to the inn.

They, they, they—surely, they would not be satisfied yet.

Kicking the floorboards so hard they would break, she ran, her feet pounding the ground.

Forward, forward, forward! As quickly as possible!

The sound would alert them, and she would be noticed.

But she did not care.

If they wanted to run, let them run; if they wanted to resist, let them resist.

No matter what happened, no matter how they begged, no matter how they prostrated themselves and confessed to the gods, she would never forgive them.

Flamm reached the room where Milkit was waiting.

She was on the bed, her clothes torn, her pale skin exposed to the chest, being pinned down.

There were two men.

One, with his upper body bare, was covering Milkit's mouth with his hand and licking her neck.

The other, with a lewd expression, was reaching for the zipper of his pants.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Their gazes intertwined.

"Master...!"

In a thin voice, as if saved, Milkit called out to Flamm.

The one called out lowered her head, clenched her fists, and bit her nails into her palms, her teeth grinding together so hard they might break.

There was no need for such measures.

To conquer the weak and toy with them unilaterally.

If they could only find satisfaction in such a self-indulgent act that involved others, then so be it.

"...Just finish it."

She spat out the words in a voice that did not seem to belong to her, devoid of any warmth.

With her right foot, she kicked the floor, took one step, then another.

Closing the distance in an instant, she crouched low and drew the Soul Eater from the subspace.

The sword, swung like a quick draw, cut through the man's torso almost silently with its sharp edge.

A small amount of blood from the blade splattered the face of the other man.

"Coming back, huh? I didn't hear that—"

The man was shocked, but he did not get to finish his sentence.

His body slid, and the upper half, cut diagonally from the waist to the armpit, fell off.

Hitting the ground, the man's head struck the floor, and he made a soundless noise, his mouth opening and closing.

But that only lasted for a brief moment, the time it took for the blood to drain from his brain.

He soon stopped moving and died.

A little later, the other half of his body, literally, fell backward.

A murky liquid, either bodily fluids or organs, oozed from the cut.

"Ugh..."

There was one survivor left.

He wiped the liquid from his face and, seeing his hand stained red, screamed.

"Uaaaaaahhhh!"

He rolled out the window and disappeared into the darkness, stumbling and losing his balance several times.

"Miss, what's with that scary look all of a sudden...?"

Sera, who had followed, froze at the sight of the room.

There were dead bodies in a room where Milkit was supposed to be waiting.

It was understandable that she was shocked.

"Eh? Why are there dead people...?"

There was no time to explain to the flustered girl.

"Milkit, wait a moment, okay?"

Flamm said this to her and then went out the window.

"...Ah."

The gentle voice of her master.

But Milkit, seeing the burning killing intent in Flamm's eyes, could not stop her.

◇◇◇

Outside, Flamm turned her head left and right, searching for the man.

"...There he is."

His figure had not completely blended into the darkness.

It was hard to see, but still within the range of her naked eye.

Having found her target, Flamm ran through the night, the Soul Eater in one hand.

The man was probably a D or C-rank adventurer.

There was no way he could escape from the current Flamm.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, the man turned his head and, seeing Flamm closing the distance, his face twisted in fear.

"Uuuaaaahh! Damn it, I thought this would be an easy job! I was going to get the money and return to the capital to have fun for a while!"

To whom was this complaint directed?

He should have blamed himself for committing the crime.

"If that guy hadn't wanted to get his hands on that creepy woman, the job would have been over long ago!"

"What? Is that a last word?"

From the darkness, Flamm's face appeared.

"Ahiiii!"

Before he knew it, she was running alongside him.

The great sword that had killed his companion entered his field of vision, as if threatening, "I can kill you anytime."

Realizing he could not escape, the man stopped and began to beg for his life in a pitiful manner.

"Please, don't kill me! It wasn't me, it was him, the one who died just now, he was the one who started the theft and the talk about the creepy slave!"

He quickly prostrated himself on the ground.

Flamm looked down at him with a completely cold gaze.

"I'm not to blame! I didn't do anything that deserves death!"

Did he think his words had any meaning?

Flamm raised the Soul Eater high without a word.

One swing, and it would be over.

The black blade, invisible in the darkness, its length and the timing of its strike unknown to the man, only increased his fear of death.

"Miss, please wait!"

Just as the sword was about to be swung, Sera, who had followed, stopped Flamm.

Killing was a sin.

Even without Originism, it was a universal truth.

Stopping it was a natural action for Sera, who believed in the kindness of people.

"Even if you kill him, it won't atone for the crimes he committed! There must be a more fitting punishment for him!"

"Sera..."

What she said was indeed the right thing.

The punishment for murder was not always death.

Among those who had served long sentences, there were some who had repented and lived honestly.

However, there were also those who definitely did not.

"H... hahaha... hahaha!"

The man, who had been behind Flamm, grabbed her in a headlock and pressed a dagger to her neck.

The fear from earlier was gone, and he showed a lewd smile to Sera, his mouth twisted.

"You're careless, aren't you? Thanks, miss! I thought I was done for, but there are still good people in the world, it's not all bad!"

He was confident in his position.

The moment he realized this, he began to act arrogantly.

Flamm, addressing Sera, who had lost her words, said,

"Hey, Sera."

"Hey, don't talk all of a sudden. Shut up. Do you know what position you're in?"

The man tried to intimidate her, but Flamm did not flinch.

What came to her mind were the images of Jean, who had sold her, and the slave trader from before.

There were people who could take away the dignity of others without any sense of guilt.

Flamm thought that it was a waste to give Sera's compassion to such people.

"I said before, there are people in this world who—"

"Anytime I can kill you, you know, I will. Before that, I want to hear your pitiful begging for your life—"

The man pressed the dagger harder.

A thin red line appeared on Flamm's neck.

Still, she did not change her expression—

"There are scum who don't repent, don't learn, and are better off dead."

She spoke gently to Sera and, incredibly, let the knife cut deeper into her neck.

The jagged blade tore through the smooth skin of the girl and embedded itself.

From the open wound, a wet sound and a large amount of blood gushed out.

"What...!?"

The man was shocked and instinctively let go of the knife.

Flamm, falling forward, reached for her neck, pulled out the knife, and threw it to the ground.

With her neck stained red, she turned and swung the Soul Eater in a single stroke.

As if in retaliation, she decapitated the man.

Pong!

Flamm hardly felt the sensation of cutting through flesh and bone.

The man's head, spinning through the night sky, landed on the sand in a parabolic arc.

The body, having lost its command center, put on a show of blood gushing from the neck like a fountain.

But realizing that no one was interested, it collapsed a few seconds later.

Flamm shook the oil and blood off the blade in one stroke and turned the Soul Eater into particles.

She passed by Sera and returned to the inn where Milkit was waiting.

As they passed, Flamm placed her hand on Sera's head and said,

"Sorry, Sera. But at least I think this is the right way."

She was not originally such a person.

She had become one.

It was a conclusion drawn after repeated betrayals and malice.

"Miss..."

Sera's voice was weak.

It felt as if the Flamm who had been close to her had gone far away.

The back of the girl walking back to the inn was getting farther away.

Sera could not chase after her and stood still under the night sky for a while.

◇◇◇

When she returned to the room, the unpleasant smell of death filled the air.

In it, Milkit was sitting on the bed, huddled up, trying to hide her chest with her torn clothes.

Just looking at her made her heart ache.

Flamm approached Milkit and touched her cheek.

Feeling the warmth through the bandages, Milkit opened her dark eyes and spoke.

"I've torn the clothes you bought for me."

Those were the first words Milkit said upon their reunion.

"I'm sorry, Master."

If she had been blamed for "I wish you had come to save me sooner," it would have been easier to bear.

She understood that it was unreasonable to expect that from Milkit, but being apologized to by her was very hard to take.

Flamm looked down and shook her head several times.

Her lips trembled, a hot feeling rose from her chest, and her eyes welled up with tears.

"That's not... you don't have to apologize...!"

"That's not possible. Because it was the first important thing given to me by Master."

"No, that's not what I mean! More, more, take better care of your body! Why! Why is it the clothes first! That's not right, not at all, the most important thing... is something else...!"

Flamm leaned on Milkit, buried her face in her chest, and hugged her tightly.

She was warm.

Her blood was flowing, her heart was beating—she was alive.

Thinking that if Flamm had arrived a little later, she would have been defiled and lost this, made her feel sick.

"Master, are you crying?"

She said, looking at her master, whose shoulders were shaking.

"...I am. I'm crying because I'm useless, because I