Ch.133Cradle of Life. Scofield Baby Factory (3)

“To think this is the end. It might feel a bit empty.”

“Well, isn’t that how factory tours usually are? Don’t look so down. Here, I bought you some winter clothes, so change into them.”

“Thanks.”

The reason I was feeling down wasn’t because of that, but it wasn’t something I particularly wanted to explain to others, so I simply nodded and put on the fur-lined coat over my cold clothes.

The long coat was ivory on the outside and burgundy on the inside, which made me smile unconsciously.

“Did you deliberately match it to my favorite colors?”

“I worked a little transformation magic. Isn’t that your… what do you call it? Custom color?”

“Signature color?”

“Custom color, signature color—aren’t they the same thing?”

I don’t even remember when I started liking these two colors.

Well, favorite colors are one of those subtly unimportant things in life, and most people change their favorite colors once or twice throughout their lives.

“But why does Master like those colors?”

“Huh?”

“Liking such ambiguous colors that are neither white nor red. I don’t understand.”

“Ah…”

At my wife’s question, I recalled the first time I saw the combination of ivory and burgundy in my childhood.

It was a cold winter day, and a prosecutor was engaged in a fierce battle with gang members on the street.

The man’s sweat-soaked coat had turned ivory, and as the prosecutor’s wounds increased, the lining of his coat began to stain with dark blood.

In the end, one prosecutor slaughtered all 230 gang members, but having suffered fatal wounds, he ultimately died.

At that time, the ivory coat he wore and the blood that had dried to a burgundy color made a profound impression on me.

After that day, I began learning swordsmanship, however clumsily, at the swordsman guild.

When I explained this to my wife, she looked at me with a sigh.

“So you thought corpses were cool?”

Wait, is that how it comes across?

I scratched my head, unable to respond, and my wife burrowed into my arms, hugging me tightly.

This was always the problem with those who lived with death constantly by their side.

Living in extreme situations made it impossible to predict the reactions of ordinary people in ordinary situations.

“Now that I’m here, forget about those things from the past. I’ll give you better things than all the bad things you’ve seen until now…”

“Raisha…”

I stroked my wife’s hair with a bitter smile.

Her words were kind, but it would probably be impossible.

I had been killing people since I was three years old, when others were just learning to toddle around clinging to their parents, and anyone who messed with me on the streets of Parfichal either died or met a fate worse than death.

The number of people who died directly or indirectly because of me must be at least 20,000, right?

But I knew from long experience that such words couldn’t comfort my dejected wife, so I said nothing.

I just gently kneaded her soft, squishy cheeks.

And watching our couple’s display were three old men who had innocently asked about favorite colors only to end up witnessing an intimate moment that made them feel like third wheels.

*

“So we’re done with what we needed to do here, right?”

Lucia, who was already opening a bottle of alcohol, asked while blowing into the bottle like a horn.

I couldn’t understand how that damned elf could drink so much without slurring her words, but since she was buying the alcohol with her own money, I had no grounds to complain and could only glare at her.

Noticing my discomfort, Casia nudged her sister with her elbow, but Lucia, already gulping down alcohol, didn’t seem to care.

“I suppose so. Now I just need to get fitted for armor.”

I said, looking at my bare upper body.

At least the lower part of my armor could be salvaged, but having only the plate armor pants remaining created a truly questionable fashion statement that I couldn’t possibly deny.

Since money wasn’t an issue, I could get a new set made at a nearby blacksmith or ironworks.

“Ah… this is why vanguard classes are so troublesome. All your money goes to armor costs. Look at archers like us. We can make a living just fine without having to engage in close combat.”

“Are you saying you could survive without your bottle and close combat?”

“I’m sorry…”

“If you try to mock me, your party leader, one more time, I’ll call you ‘grandma’ all day long.”

“No! Anything but that!”

Lucia was so agitated she dropped her bottle on the floor, and I was able to restore my authority as party leader with a hearty laugh.

She’s probably long forgotten that I was the one who bought her that spatial storage for her damned bottles.

“But they weren’t making elves or dwarves at the factory.”

Perhaps to change the atmosphere, Lucia shifted the topic elsewhere, and this attempt was successful.

“Ah… now that you mention it, I don’t think we saw any elf or dwarf babies.”

“Hmm. Elves and dwarves must reproduce in the same way as humans.”

As Raisha and I were wondering about this, Simon, our party’s sage, explained the reason as if it were a simple matter.

“It’s simple. The production lines are separated.”

“Ah.”

That’s right.

We simply toured the human production line because humans outnumbered the others 3 to 2.

It was a very clear answer, but also somewhat disappointing.

“Well, overall, elves and dwarves tend to avoid using such… artificial insemination methods for reproduction.”

“Why?”

“Because they have plenty of lifespan.”

“Ah.”

When you think about it, it makes perfect sense.

Elves are an immortal race, and even dwarves live about two to three times longer than the average human.

In contrast, humans typically only live to about 80 years without consuming special elixirs, so since the two long-lived races don’t carry their babies for longer periods, these facilities naturally operate primarily for humans.

“True. Even we would prefer to have babies from our own wombs rather than creating them in facilities like that.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Men like you might not understand, but most women would think that way. I have a natural life synthesis factory inside my belly, so why would I need to outsource?”

“Natural life synthesis factory…”

While semantically correct, I never imagined such words coming from a woman’s mouth.

It’s certainly true that I don’t understand women’s hearts well…

“But isn’t it hard for a woman to carry a baby for nearly ten months? And there’s the pain of childbirth too.”

“Aish! Are you stupid? You can use pregnancy as an excuse to do nothing for ten months! If you live in a city rather than the countryside, you can receive childbirth support and childcare subsidies. As for the pain of childbirth, an epidural takes care of that.”

“Hmm.”

Wanting to be pregnant just to do nothing for ten months!

That’s nothing short of a culture shock.

“And…”

“And?”

Now it was Casia’s turn.

“From a woman’s perspective, factories like this are offensive. They take away the fundamental reason for the female gender to exist.”

“Ah…”

Come to think of it, that’s true.

Physically, women are weaker than elementary school students, and mentally, they have significantly less ability to endure stress than men.

Biologically and sociologically, the female gender exists solely for three elements: ‘pregnancy, childbirth, and childcare.’

Of course, with technological advancements in modern times, women have gained strength comparable to men, but nevertheless, what remains when you remove pregnancy, childbirth, and childcare from a woman’s existence?

At best, they would just be inferior versions of men.

“Do you think so too?”

“…”

When I asked my wife, Raisha didn’t answer.

But seeing her rubbing her face against my hand, I could tell that she too, as a woman, felt indescribable fear and discomfort toward this human technology, just as she felt awe.

Much like when men first saw guns and were shocked, thinking, “A weapon that allows even children and women to kill warriors!”

“Well, regardless, in the end, whether woman or man, the fact that everyone is valuable and has a right to exist in this world doesn’t change. What does it matter if women don’t have children? They can live more freely, liberated from biological constraints. The emergence of the ‘new woman’ has been enabled by these masterpieces of biotechnology.”

“New woman…”

In Parfichal, you occasionally saw women who dressed like men.

Short hair, rugged clothing, masculine speech patterns—I’m not sure if these are the “new women” he’s referring to, but I vaguely knew that such women were secretly admired among other women.

However, as a man, I wouldn’t want such a woman as my wife.