Chapter Nineteen: Compassion at Heart

In the darkness, only the rumbling roar of Yune echoed through the deserted ancient city.

We had but one thought: to get as far away from here as possible, flee into the wilderness, and wait for dawn.

Bella sighed and asked, "Are those our kind?"

I replied, "Rabid bloodthirsty type?"

Bella said, "They are the blood clan!" Her tone sounded slightly annoyed.

I said, "He claimed to be Abel. Do you know Abel?"

The nobility of the Black Coffin were nearly all followers of the Cainite faith, and thus were familiar with the tale: Cain, driven by envy, slew his brother Abel, thereby shouldering the sin of God.

She said, "The name Abel is rare, especially for someone so powerful."

I decided to speak plainly, lest she ask Salvador. I said, "He said he is precisely that Abel from tens of thousands… perhaps hundreds of thousands of years ago."

Bella gazed at her nails, sighing softly, "He’s so strong, whatever he says goes. Even if he claims to be God himself, what could we do?"

I said, "Nothing, but believing is another matter."

Bella asked, "Why did he save us?"

I said, "Because I defeated him."

Bella’s eyes widened, then she burst into laughter, gasping for breath. "You? You… defeated him? Ha, he could crush every bone in your body with a single finger!"

I said, "It’s the truth. Otherwise, why would he treat me so courteously?"

Bella mimicked my tone, "Fine, I don’t understand what he’s saying anyway, but believing it is another matter."

Sisyphus stirred, groggy. "What… happened to me?"

Bella said, "You enjoyed my kiss."

Sisyphus looked terrified, lips pale; he knew what that meant, and fell silent.

I took the opportunity to say, "Since Miss Bella supports me, I hope this time you obey my orders, no dissent."

Sisyphus sighed, "Whatever."

Warden found a relatively open spot, convenient for escape, and nodded off on the seat. We used bandages from the medical kit to staunch the bleeding, recalling what had just happened and realizing we’d been far too optimistic at first. In this sorrowful age, night was much more dangerous than we’d imagined, and even Yune was not invincible.

I returned to the lower compartment; everyone asked about the events, and I summarized. Salvador was astonished to hear we’d encountered Abel again.

Ferhael said, "Didn’t you gather the flesh, blood, and bones of that lava demon?"

I answered no, and he lamented the missed opportunity.

Pest sighed, "If we could transplant the lava demon’s power, it might be as great an achievement as discovering Yune, perhaps even greater."

Ferhael said, "Indeed, then we could create even stronger super soldiers."

Sisyphus said, "Super soldiers? Your evil, cruel surgeries have killed countless people! Even with all the Black Coffin’s members, you’d hardly find a suitable candidate!"

Pest retorted angrily, "What are you talking about? Valkyrie’s weak, useless modifications can’t compare to ours!"

Sisyphus said, "But we believe in science—only science can save humanity! You rely on demonic sorcery, only plunging deeper into evil!"

The argument grew heated; Pest sprouted a demon’s horn, Sisyphus drew his pistol, and Ferhael and I quickly intervened. Fortunately, they respected me enough to back down, though both brooded in silence.

The Target asked what we should do next—should we still go to the museum? I said, "Stick to the original plan. At dawn, we enter the canning factory for food."

After a brief nap, precious morning arrived; Bella returned to her coffin. Warden, bleary-eyed, drove Yune back into the city, crushing many low buildings before finding the canning factory.

Sisyphus scouted inside and reported, "It’s a bandit’s den, populated by ugly mutants, seemingly afflicted with skin disease, and heavily armed."

Ferhael said, "The cans in the factory have likely been cleaned out."

Sisyphus said, "If we find their canning machines and materials, we could take some back—we need that technology."

Pest flipped off the safety on his gun and shouted, "Let’s hit them!"

Sisyphus nodded and said to me, "Commander, you’re in charge."

I panicked—for truth be told, I’d never commanded a military action, nor had Lamia taught me. But I quickly recalled Lamia and I’s battle when we found Yune. I said, "We’ll divide into four teams as before. Pest’s unit holds the rear, the other three enter through the three entrances. Kill on sight, show no mercy, but be careful."

Ferhael said, "Excellent." Sisyphus, seeing Ferhael had no objections, was amazed and replied, "Yes, sir."

Per the map provided by Faga, Salvador, the Target, and I entered through the eastern gate. Salvador led the charge. I said, "Sami, I have high hopes for you; don’t disappoint me."

I wanted to give him more practice, and since I was overseeing things and the opponents were just rabble, he’d be safe.

Salvador nodded firmly. On the first floor, no bandits appeared; the air smelled of rotting food. Salvador and the Target moved skillfully, advancing and halting, checking corners and doors with caution.

About three minutes later, Salvador shot a careless bandit dead. The Target sprayed bullets, killing another, though his marksmanship left much to be desired, and his large frame made it hard to find cover.

The bandits realized we were here; footsteps sounded everywhere, bullets whistled. Salvador fired back, dropping enemies in succession. The bandits shouted, "Their marksmanship is excellent!" and began to cower behind walls, hesitant to show themselves. Salvador threw a grenade, scattering them in panic.

I was impressed by Salvador’s prowess; though he couldn’t match Lamia, he was far superior to most scavengers I knew. He had no need for acrobatics or superhuman strength—his aim and skills were top-notch.

The Target shouted, raised an iron box, and charged ahead. I called, "What are you doing?" He’d already rushed behind the enemy’s cover, swung the box, blood splattered—it seemed he’d killed someone. He then drew his gun and fired continuously. The enemies screamed and retreated, shooting at him as they fell back. I saw the Target bleeding, but it was only a superficial wound.

Salvador, using the Target as cover, shot the fleeing bandits one by one. I counted: eight bodies lay there.

I asked, "Is his body like Lamia’s?"

Salvador said, "He’s naturally strong. His skin has been hardened—regular bullets can’t penetrate his bones."

The Target was clumsy, but great at sowing chaos among frightened humans. He was bold to the point of recklessness—whether that was good or bad, I didn’t know.

If the enemy had aimed at his eyes, he’d likely already be dead.

Deeper in the factory, we found women and children. I asked if they’d been kidnapped by bandits. Some shook their heads, others nodded.

Were these bandits truly bandits, or just refugees eking out a living in the factory? I didn’t know; I hadn’t seen them harm innocents. Why did the women’s answers differ? Perhaps some were kidnapped, but some had grown accustomed, while others were not yet "broken."

Or maybe half spoke the truth, and the other half lied—they weren’t slaves, but family members of the bandits, claiming to be abducted out of fear we’d kill them all.

Sisyphus’s intelligence was flawed; perhaps we’d killed the wrong people.

I said, "We don’t kill women or children. Check for any remaining cans, leave some, and let them fend for themselves."

Salvador sighed, "But… that’s tantamount to sentencing them to death."

I said, "Better than doing it ourselves. What do you suggest?"

Salvador said, "Black Coffin needs manpower. We could take them back."

I snapped, "Manpower? Where would we find so much food? The soil is ruined, the sun emits deadly rays, and almost no grain can grow—only mutant plants survive. We have no source of food!"

Salvador said, "Black Coffin is self-sufficient."

I said, "Lamia told me: Black Coffin’s population is already at its limit, and to us, it’s a black box—even Faga doesn’t know how it produces endless food and water."

Salvador was clearly tormented by his conscience. "But if we want to revive humanity, how can we refuse to save those in need?"

This boy was truly conflicted. Why had he been so decisive when betraying Lamia years ago?

I couldn’t be bothered with lofty principles, and barked, "My orders are: bring back supplies, find the statue—no rescuing along the way."

Salvador asked, "Do you think… the statue is more important than human life?"

I answered, "Yes. In this age, it certainly is."

Suddenly, one of the women produced a gun, aimed it at us. I was startled and quickly raised my right hand to block. She fired, striking the Glorious Hand. I was unharmed by luck. I threw a dagger and killed her; the other women screamed.

I saw them reaching for weapons and strode forward, but Salvador blocked my way, shouting, "Stop! Stop! Don’t go!"

I snapped, "Whose side are you on?" The situation grew more chaotic. I remembered the betrayal at Waterless Village years ago and understood Orchid’s choice then: only by establishing authority with force could you prevent deterioration.

It was Salvador’s weakness that had emboldened them to resist.

They had to witness my cruelty firsthand—to see blood. Only violence could suppress violence, only killing could halt killing.

I punched one of the women aiming a gun at me, shattering her hand. Blood splattered over everyone; they shrank into the corner in terror.

I cursed, "Damn it! Filthy work for my hands!"

I knew my actions were no different from those of criminals and bandits.

Maybe I should have comforted them gently from the beginning? But they would never trust me.

Never underestimate the enemy. I was no immortal monster; I was not qualified to show mercy.

Salvador looked pained. I said, "Target, check if the others need backup. If they’re done, start moving supplies."

I pointed my gun at one of the women’s children. "Now, tell me where the food is."