Ghoul 16: Justice?

That is precisely why I ensure the mountain of corpses I have amassed is not in vain.

The words of the Pope, clinging to the ears.

The old man had continued to take human lives, guided by his unyielding will, those he deemed worthy of protection included.

To sustain the greater, the lesser must be slain.

The resolve and strength to carry out that action without a single hesitation.

Taking a life is forbidden.

Why? or how come? Such questions hold no meaning.

There is no need to explain why one must not kill another through logic.

What cannot be, cannot be.

Nothing more than that.

Not a matter of logic—actions avoided simply because they are human.

But if there were something worth protecting, even at the cost of doing what should not be done?

Even if one knows it is wrong, what choice remains when no other path is available?

The Pope's actions are a manipulation of the world's structure according to personal convenience.

Yet this is not an act driven by self-interest, but rather an intention rooted in concern for the world.

For the sake of the world, he sacrifices himself as an individual, incurs numerous casualties, yet saves a greater number of humanity.

Is this action justice?

Or is it evil?

Saving someone is justice.

Killing someone is evil.

When both exist, which is the correct path?

Unknown.

Whether this is right or wrong.

But one thing is certain.

Even if directly confronted and denied as wrong, the Pope will not alter his course.

That old man, with his calm expression, yet harboring a belief akin to madness in his eyes.

No matter what occurs, he will not stop. This can be stated with certainty.

If he stops, it will be only when the world is saved—as he himself claimed—or when his body and soul have utterly decayed.

Whether the Pope's path is correct or incorrect.

Even if, hypothetically, it were wrong, he would rise again, using that error as fuel.

Until the moment his body and soul have utterly decayed.

Terrifying.

That extreme belief cannot be measured by status or skills—such a force is beyond measure.

If we fought directly, I would win.

But such a victory would hold no meaning.

He would rise again even after death.

Again and again.

No heart is stronger than one that does not break.

What of me?

In that sense, I am very weak.

I cannot endure the sins I have committed—I have even wished for death, even briefly.

And yet, when given a chance to live, I find myself clinging to life with shameful desire.

My status and skills are likely quite high, even by the standards of this world.

I have learned, firsthand, that there are always those above me. Still, I am significantly above average.

Yet the one who possesses such power is, all too clearly, my own weak heart.

The balance is off.

I must become stronger.

I cannot reach the madness of that Pope, nor do I wish to.

Still, I must act—bearing the weight of my past, so that it is not wasted.

That is my resolve.

An excuse, for my weak heart, to forgive myself.

Status has returned to normal.

No more lingering in this manor.

Action is required.

To know how I must be from here forward.

I will speak with Shiro.

To learn where Shiro intends to go.

And the method to reach that destination.

If my path aligns with Shiro’s, I will gladly cooperate.

If not…

Then I will pray it is not so.

I had made my decision. Yet Shiro did not return by mealtime, an unusual occurrence.

Instead, Sophia sat motionless, her body hollowed, barely touching her food.

She must have been deeply unsettled by her encounter with the Pope.

Her inner state was too complex for me to imagine.

She was born in a nation devoted to the goddess faith. Her homeland was destroyed by the divine word cult.

I know that feeling. My own goblin village was eradicated by humans.

The fury. The hatred. The loss of self to rage.

I took revenge with my own hands.

But Sophia cannot do that.

It is not impossible—yet likely not to happen.

I learned the Pope’s resolve during that meeting.

Too pure. Too much of an apology spoken directly to me.

Even so, if the Pope’s unyielding conviction were shown plainly, Sophia would understand that killing him there would mean nothing.

Is revenge justice?

I do not know.

Yet I know, from experience, that some things must be fulfilled before progress is possible.

Sophia lived without fulfilling her revenge.

That is why she stepped past the line that must not be crossed by a human being, and turned toward cruelty so easily.

The fire of vengeance that remained within her—was it not what distorted her personality?

That is how I now see it.

And when she finally faced her target of vengeance, she realized she could not carry it out—no matter what.

Ordinarily, ending the life of that body would have been sufficient.

But the Pope was an exception.

Killing him would serve no purpose.

To fulfill her vengeance, she must break his will.

She likely understands how difficult that is.

Sophia rises from her seat without having touched her meal.

"Would you not stay a little longer and eat?"

She speaks before she thinks.

Immediately after, she realizes her mistake.

Her expression reveals unmistakable irritation.