Ch.2Chapter 2 – Awakening

When in the green water, I couldn’t move my body properly.

I didn’t know the reason or principle behind it, but there was a moment when I had no choice but to understand this, and to realize it.

“Nnnnnnggghhhh!!!!!!”

It was because there were days when priests outside the tank would activate something like a magic circle, and needle-like objects would enter the tank and pierce my body.

On such days, my body was usually in tremendous pain.

Even when I tried to twist my body to escape the pain, I couldn’t move properly, so I had to endure everything just as it was.

The only way to escape this pain was to pass out, but whenever I tried to faint, the pain would wake me up, so the success rate was low.

The pain I felt varied.

The feeling of liquids crawling into my body, the sensation of blood draining out, pain and strange tickling and itching all felt simultaneously,

The feeling of bones being lifted and shaken whole,

The sensation of my head being shaved off and tightened…

When I first felt the pain, I screamed, but they just silently continued their experiments as if they couldn’t hear me.

Perhaps they really couldn’t hear me.

The timing and frequency of these ordeals were truly irregular.

Sometimes they would do it more than two or three times a day, sometimes all day long, and sometimes in the middle of the night.

I only knew it was the middle of the night because one of them had loudly complained, “Come on, it’s the middle of the night,” but still.

Fortunately, today seemed to end earlier than expected.

Watching them stretch their bodies tiredly as they left, my mind, barely functioning from the pain, slowly began to fade to black.

Of course, once everything went dark, unpleasant scenes surfaced again.

Scenes where something kept being forgotten, and I was afraid of that happening.

After enduring such ordeals, there were changes to my body.

It would become lighter, or stronger.

Even if the external changes weren’t obvious, I could feel the difference.

“What did you enhance this time?”

“Endurance and strength, a bit more.”

I pretended not to hear the priests talking as I fought in the arena.

Whether I heard them or not, I was blocking attacks from other people who charged at me with demonic faces.

As I immediately counterattacked, I could feel my strength had increased more than before.

I was able to knock down several opponents at once.

As I caught my breath briefly, the floor of the arena came back into view.

By coincidence, I was standing right where I had killed that death row inmate yesterday.

Though the bloodstains had dried up, his curse came back to life.

‘May you be buried in an unmarked grave… you bastard….’

How many times would these words torment me?

I looked around again.

Today, too, I was the last one standing.

Several days passed meaninglessly like that.

A day would pass, and then with the feeling of electric current flowing, I would open my eyes and move like a machine toward the arena.

For some reason, I felt a sense of futility.

Moving without any purpose, just following orders, felt truly pointless.

Today, it seemed they were planning to have me execute death row inmates again, like a few days ago.

I don’t know why there are so many death row inmates.

Why do I have to do this?

I don’t even know what the purpose is.

I felt like I shouldn’t do it.

I didn’t want to do it.

It was unsettling how my body moved on its own.

Perhaps it was because the previous incident still weighed on my mind.

Like before, they called people in order, and my turn came.

A frail-looking old man was sitting with his eyes closed.

He had exactly the appearance you’d imagine if asked to picture a kind-hearted old man living in some countryside village.

“Number 13, today it’s a mace.”

“Honestly, is there any technique to using a blunt weapon?”

“Shut up.”

I gripped the mace and walked slowly forward.

Like before, it was a weapon I had never held, but somehow I instinctively knew how to wield it.

I wondered what kind of curse this old man would utter as he died.

Above, the priests shouted words of contempt, and the shackles binding the old man were released.

Had he given up on everything? The old man just sat quietly, seemingly waiting for death.

The man from before had tried to escape, resisted once, and left behind a curse that still haunted my memories, but this old man was quiet.

It was actually easier when they didn’t resist.

The priests above were trying to provoke him somehow, wanting him to resist and die painfully.

“Hey, you crazy old man! You’re about to die and you have nothing to say?”

“They say even a worm will turn when trodden on, why don’t you squirm a little?”

The priests might not be very skilled at insulting, I thought absently, when the quiet old man suddenly started laughing.

I was so puzzled by what he found amusing that I hesitated with the mace raised.

“What are you doing? Finish it quickly.”

He was actually urging me to end it quickly.

The old man who had his eyes closed opened them and looked at me.

Perhaps he wanted to see who was killing him before he died.

His eyes were filled with hostility.

As he glared at me with those eyes, the hostility soon disappeared.

“Well, I didn’t expect this.”

He was looking at me with what seemed like pity, even clicking his tongue.

I wanted to tell him not to look at me with such eyes.

“I thought you were just another crazy fanatic, but it seems you’re not doing this voluntarily, are you?”

The old man spoke as if asking if I was being threatened by these cult members, then closed his eyes again.

“I don’t regret beating those who tried to do terrible things to my daughter, despite claiming to believe in God.”

The old man’s tone was very quiet.

I suspected those above might not even realize he was speaking.

“In this country, I knew that crossing the Emiris Order meant death, but I made my choice, so I’m not afraid to die.”

The old man added that he had lived a full life.

However, my body was already approaching him on its own.

“I’ll go first. Poor young friend.”

I raised the mace.

“You’ll regret living like a puppet.”

Should I strike down?

“Try to live without shame to yourself.”

I stopped without realizing it.

The old man opened his eyes and looked at me.

My arm wouldn’t come down.

I didn’t want to bring it down.

But I saw the old man slightly nod his head.

A priest, finding this strange, opened his mouth.

“Number 13, kill—”

Before the priest could finish, I swung the mace.

I didn’t look at the old man.

I didn’t want to see that scene with my own eyes.

It felt like I shouldn’t.

Afterward, I returned to the waiting room.

My hands were trembling.

It felt like this was the old man’s curse.

The awareness of something inexplicable.

The feeling that something was wrong, but being unable to recall what it was.

The sense that if I couldn’t remember soon enough, I would never be able to turn back.

As I thought about this, something seemed to raise its head within me.

Before it could fully emerge, a priest’s voice rang out.

“Number 13, stand up for a moment.”

I stood up at the priest’s voice.

“Number 13. Why did you hesitate earlier?”

The priest’s voice was full of suspicion.

I was about to answer that I felt I shouldn’t strike him down, when a thought occurred to me that I should just gloss over it.

‘But I shouldn’t…’

But why shouldn’t I?

I had never thought about it myself.

‘You’ll regret living like a puppet.’

‘Try to live without shame to yourself.’

The old man’s curse came alive.

“The old man seemed to be leaving some last words, so I hesitated momentarily.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me to spare him if possible.”

That was a lie.

Like the previous death row inmate, the old man had left me with a curse.

Though not cursing in content, it remained with me like a curse.

I don’t know why he said those words to me, or what meaning they held for me to remember them.

But at those words, the priest snickered and closed the notebook he had brought.

“We had you wait until they finished speaking to hear and mock their curses or last words, but it seems this has created an error.”

The priest just motioned with his head for me to return to my place.

I turned and went back to my seat.

Surprised at myself for lying to the priest when I shouldn’t have.

At the same time, becoming aware of the joy I felt at having accomplished something.

Later, when I was fighting in the arena as usual:

“Number 13 has survived to the end twice in a row, so let’s give him a penalty.”

Instructions were given to the others to attack me in coordinated assaults, and the fight began again.

The combat started, and immediately six people began attacking me simultaneously.

Due to the orders, they didn’t even check each other.

If it was clear they were attacking me, others wouldn’t interfere, so I had to face all six alone.

As I fought, I was hit in the head and my body bent backward.

“As expected, six people at once is too much for one person.”

“The specs are all similar anyway. Number 13 just happened to survive unusually well.”

“Even two people at once would have been difficult, so six is game over, right?”

The priests above were chattering, but I had no time to pay attention.

My head was spinning from the blow, and soon my body was grabbed and thrown backward.

It seemed impossible to face six people at once, I thought as I rolled on the ground to avoid a woman trying to stomp on my face.

Why do these people and I have to fight each other?

Why did I have to kill people?

Why am I now rolling on the ground in this place?

Why do I have to listen to those priests above evaluating me as they look down?

I felt a sense of absurdity.

I felt disgusted.

I got up, rushed at one person, pinned them to the ground, took a mount position, and threw punches.

I hit and hit and hit and hit again.

Soon someone kicked me in the chest, knocking me away, but I stood up.

But then someone kicked me in the head from behind, and I lost consciousness.

When I regained consciousness, I was in the tank.

Everyone else was also confined in tanks, and there were no priests around—just me alone.

It seemed they had treated me after I lost consciousness and then roughly put me back here.

Since I couldn’t move my body, I sank back into thought.

The death row inmate’s curse that had been tormenting me.

The old man’s words that had confused me.

Thinking about these two sets of words, I began to explore again the initial question I had pondered a few days ago.

‘What was my name?’

‘Who was I?’

Nothing particularly came to mind.

Still, I kept questioning myself.

It felt like I should.

It felt like that was the way to avoid regret.

To live without shame to myself.

To think for myself…

As my thoughts progressed, suddenly my back felt as cold as if ice had touched it.

Since waking up here, I had only done as I was told.

Without even knowing something as basic as my name.

Without knowing who I was.

As I traced my thoughts, something felt wrong.

Why had I only been doing what I was told?

And I had no memories.

I had no memories from before waking up here.

Whenever I tried to think about something, it felt like my thoughts kept stopping. It felt like wandering in fog.

Isn’t that strange?

Had I been in some kind of accident?

Suddenly, I remembered scenes that occasionally surfaced when I was in this tank.

Scenes where I was the subject, bewildered as if I had lost something.

Those unpleasant scenes where I was terrified of something, saw human arms and legs outside the tank, and lost consciousness.

Could these be fragments of my memories?

When that thought occurred to me, I remembered what the priests had said.

They mentioned putting the Order’s weapon skills and combat techniques into my head.

As evidence, even with weapons I had never held before, I knew how to use them as soon as I picked them up.

Perhaps I had my memories taken away, or my memories had been manipulated, I thought.

Why had I accepted everything as normal until now, without questioning anything?

Why hadn’t I thought deeply about it myself?

Just as I reached that thought,

Suddenly my head began to ache.

It was a pain as if something was forcibly trying to subdue me.

My brain was throbbing, my eyes felt like they would pop out, and nausea surged up so strongly that I felt saliva might drip.

But even though I wanted to struggle and flail, this green water prevented me from moving.

Even if I made a sound, no one would come.

I felt that this headache was definitely not normal.

And I felt that I had to resist.

Unable to lose consciousness from the pain, unable to struggle, time passed endlessly.

Suddenly, an electric current ran through my body.

Wondering if it was time to get up, I opened my eyes.

As I rose, I thought about how terrible yesterday’s headache had been.

The green water began to drain.

As the surrounding water drained, some of the people inside were released.

I walked out slowly, watching those around me.

“Good. Numbers 5, 8, 13, and 24, follow me.”

Unlike the other three who moved without saying anything, I almost asked why I should.

I swallowed my words immediately and naturally blended in with the three as I moved.

“Don’t memorize the route.”

Listening to the priest’s words, I noticed one thing at that moment.

The priest’s words no longer felt compelling.

To the point where I wondered why I had been so obedient to the priests’ words until now.

I looked straight ahead to avoid suspicion as we moved.

I felt as if I had been fragmented.

At the same time, I felt like I had finally regained “myself.”

Though still in pieces for now, “myself” was beginning to heal slowly.

For some reason, I wanted to blame myself, and there was also an inexplicable joy.

I would have to hide it since the situation seemed to call for it.

But simultaneously, one thought arose:

I will escape from here.

I will escape from this damned fanatic den.