Soul 10: Emptiness

Kills every living thing within sight.

Everything that moves is hateful.

Even the trembling leaves at the edge of vision provoke irritation.

After the battle with the Sword God, my rationality barely returned.

But can this truly be called a return?

Slaughters an animal, clearly harmless at a glance, then devours its flesh greedily.

This is no different from a mindless beast.

No—beasts do not hunt unnecessarily when full. The one who kills everything in sight, as I do now, is not even a beast. It is a mere heretic.

It is not only animals I kill.

I have slain many humans who fled from me.

Men who stood bravely, women shielding children, children protected, elders sacrificing themselves to buy time—each one killed.

Why am I doing this?

I do not know.

Each time I kill an innocent, nausea rises.

Yet, hatred and fury overwhelm it further.

The command to kill echoes in the mind.

Act on impulse, following the words without restraint.

Each kill brings discomfort, which becomes irritation, then murderous intent—fueling the search for the next target.

A negative chain descending to the lowest depths.

Having defeated the Sword God, I had evolved from High Ogre to Ogre General.

From there, it repeated acts of slaughter, evolving further into a demon.

Among the evolutionary paths offered by the general, there was also the ogre king—but I had somehow chosen this one.

The change was abrupt.

My physique, which had been steadily growing larger through evolution, suddenly contracted to the size of an average human being.

That alone might not have been startling, but the moment I saw my reflection in the water, I froze.

There, his face from a previous life was reflected.

Two horns emerged from the forehead, giving a slightly more fierce impression—but it was undeniably the face of my former self.

Why now.

That thought surfaced in the mind.

And simultaneously, acceptance followed.

Ah, yes— I had reversed course.

Evolved into a demon. The Taboo skill had reached level ten.

And the Taboo obtained was sufficient to shatter my soul.

Vomited gastric fluid. Raged blindly. Fueled by intensified intent. Began slaughtering living beings.

Consumed by wrath. Days of mere killing.

Before acquiring the Taboo, I had felt guilt over killing innocent people. Yet I could not stop, even when it was my own will. Despair.

Now, after obtaining the Taboo, my heart had lightened—slightly.

Killing had gained legitimacy.

And I raged at that very sentiment within myself.

Not a provisional anger induced by a skill—genuine anger from the core of the heart.

What is legitimacy?

Such a thing is merely an afterthought, a fabricated justification.

In the end, I am only excusing my own transgressions by affixing the absolution of justice.

The Taboo's content was indeed abhorrent—but that does not justify my killing.

It is the same.

As it was in my previous life.

I am not wrong.

Therefore, violence is permissible.

The only difference is that now I assert I am not wrong after committing violence.

The essence remains identical.

Using my own righteousness as a shield to justify my own guilt.

Perhaps that is why I am drawing closer to the form of a human.

In my previous life, will was right, violence was wrong.

In this life, will is wrong, violence is right.

I no longer know what is right, or what is not.

I do not understand, yet my actions do not cease.

Leaving behind my will, my sense of right.

Someone—stop me.

I wish to return to that goblin village.

To a place where right and wrong need not be considered.

But there is nothing there anymore.

No proud warrior. No strict yet warm family. Nothing at all.

And nothing remains that can stop me.

Judgment stone reveals my status exceeds ten thousand—without even using Anger.

The ice dragon that came to stop me was repelled without invoking Anger.

When I was a goblin, I was taught that dragons were among the most dangerous creatures in the mountain range.

Even a higher-tier dragon like that could not stop me.

Now I am merely a machine—killing every living thing I see.

No will remains within me. Only hollow, empty rage.

Kill. Feed. Search for the next.

That is all.

Is there any meaning to my existence?

Perhaps it would have been better not to regain consciousness during the battle with the Sword God.

Then I could have become a true machine—without thought, without will.

Or perhaps if the Sword God had killed me.

Ah. Yes.

I wish to die.

I do not wish to live in this world. In this state.

Why is this world so painful?

Why do I suffer so?

I do not know.

I wish to die.

Yet I cannot end my own life by will.

My body continues to perform survival actions automatically.

Pursue prey. Kill. Consume.

Chase a group attempting to cross the mountain range.

By some measure, the title "Nation Downfall" had already been bestowed upon me. On this side of the mountain range, I had taken countless lives.

Because I continued moving in mimicry of the Sword God’s motions, the title had attached itself to me as well.

The fact felt like defilement—like tarnishing the name of Reger Bane Lengzand. A sense of nausea settled in.

Beyond the mountain range, the group I had been pursuing vanished from sight.

Irrelevant.

I had not pursued them out of desire to kill.

In fact, their disappearance was preferable.

Yet, I was attacked by a mysterious group.

Different from the knights I had fought before, different from the disparate warriors I had encountered earlier. This group relied on magic and bows in an odd, unfamiliar manner.

After killing them, the title "Fairy Slayer" was added to my record. Upon stripping their clothing and examining their form, I discovered they were a species with pointed ears.

A race resembling elves, as they would be called on Earth.

The reason for the attack remains unclear. A pointless death.

Elves are formidable, but not my opponent.

Perhaps nothing remains that can kill me.

Accepting that was inevitable.

Yet, surrender came too soon.

Before me, a girl stands in defiance.

Her mouth forms a smile. Her eyes blaze with resolve.

An aura unlike her refined appearance—feral, like a demon or wrathful spirit.

Understanding dawns.

This girl is strong.

Strong enough to kill me.

And I harbor a faint hope.