Chapter 108 Tears
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
HP, Mana, and Skill Power were all stripped from Sieve, leaving her unable to move. Dahlia, with the magic sword mounted on her arm pointed at her neck, led the group of fighters surrounding her.
Healers tended to the severely injured, but many had simply collapsed from the shock of the intrusion. As the vigilante corps led the bereaved away with somber expressions, the anger radiating from the fighters, led by the squad leader, was immense.
Ichika maintained a calm exterior, but a burning rage could be seen in her eyes. The owner of the skewered snack shop where we first ate together—he had shielded a nearby child and perished.
The owner of the Crafting Drink shop suffered injuries that left permanent damage to his arm. Learning that those cherished flavors were lost forever ignited Ichika’s fury.
Hinagiku-san frequently visited this commercial district for snacks and knew many people.
Most of the injured were her acquaintances. Though her blade was currently sheathed, it was clear she intended to strike instantly if any movement was made.
The intruder who arrived the other day seemed to have no attachments; she watched with anticipation, ready to strike at any moment.
As for us—we’ve lived in this town for so long, built countless memories, experienced joys and sorrows. To see it destroyed, how could we not be angry?
We were given the ‘Great Katana, Jihi-maru’ that the intruder requested, ensuring she would be wounded even if not killed. I, too, hold a sword capable of piercing defenses, though it may shatter in the process.
”…Oh my, what’s the matter?”
About ten minutes later, Sieve awoke. The surrounding group immediately readied for combat, but Sieve merely looked at Dahlia, pondering.
”Weren’t you the girl who refused to join our master’s followers before?”
”No. I don’t know any irritating impostors like you,” Dahlia replied, looking at Sieve with suspicion.
Sieve tilted her head, puzzled. “Oh? Mistaken identity? But but—you look so alike!”
As she spoke, a spatial ripple appeared in Sieve’s hand. I thought she was drawing a weapon, but she held a small, jewel-like object.
”See—this one’s yours, isn’t it?”
It gleamed black, stained with what looked like dried blood. The object pulsed with a familiar Mana signature—
”Whoa there, no, no, no,” the bastard’s voice cut in, and my right wrist was grabbed. I lost consciousness for a moment, but why was I raising my sword?
”…Is that my core?” Dahlia asked.
”Yep. Such a waste not to be a follower, don’t you think?” Sieve said. “If you won’t serve our master, we’ll put it to good use.”
I couldn’t see Dahlia’s face, only her back, but her voice trembled.
”If you’re going to be our master’s enemy—we’d rather make effective use of it ourselves.”
Hearing those words, I don’t know what Dahlia felt. But it was certain that she silently activated her magic sword and engaged the chain blade.
”…Master, permission.”
Her tone was calm, which made her anger all the more palpable. I wanted to grant permission myself.
But I couldn’t.
”You all, wait!!”
A group approached, led by Occhan, with party members and Tatia following.
”…What should we wait for, Defense Chief?”
I addressed him by his title, implying his words carried weight. Occhan froze, then quickly refocused.
”She certainly committed illegal entry and caused casualties. However, she is a high-ranking official from another country!”
I see—diplomatic friction. A serious issue, but whether the people here would accept it is another matter.
”…Indeed, that is a difficult problem.”
”I understand, kid.”
”Yes, I understand. The City Mayor told me, as the next Chief Crafter, to develop a sense for these political matters.”
Occhan sighed in relief, though I couldn’t tell why.
”If so, promise—right now—to compensate for the injuries and destroyed shops.”
”…Huh?”
Occhan was taken aback. Dalma-san looked troubled, Narki-san seemed unable to intervene, and Olive-san appeared clueless.
”Compensation and restitution,” I pressed. “Promises for those injured today, for the businesses that were destroyed… for the dead.”
”Kid, that’s…”
”Can you make the victims accept letting her live as a political compromise?”
As the next Chief Crafter, I carry weight.
If we brushed this off for politics, what message would that send? Yet standing up for victims would speak volumes.
”There was a child who lost a parent; someone lost a lover; a parent’s child was taken,” I said, the words feeling raw. “Tell me—can you make those people accept it because it’s politics?”
I lost control then.
The squad leader said my healing ointment helped half the wounded; without it, the toll would’ve been worse. How could I not stop this?
”You can’t let her go unpunished. We need some penalty. How can we stand before the bereaved and say nothing happened?” I shouted.
Occhan fell silent, his position demanding caution. He bowed his head.
”Kid, I should have acted when Sieve ran wild in the city—this is my fault. I’m sorry,” he said, apologizing as he lowered himself.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t move that was the problem. The problem was far worse—the town’s scent of iron and smoke thickened around us.
”She came here… because of me.”
…Wait. What?
”The reason this thing showed up—was you, old man?” I asked.
”To be exact,” he said, “I asked her for a favor.”
A favor from an Angel? It didn’t make sense. I studied Sieve: honey-blond hair, eyes closed.
Then Tatia: crimson-gold hair, blue eyes. The late emperor’s sister and her husband had those colors. If their bloodline mixed with Sieve’s…
”…So this is your mess,” I muttered, rubbing my face and staring up at the dark ceiling.
In the original story, Sieve had come searching for her daughter—and that daughter was Tatia herself.
Anyway, imprisonment was certain. I crafted a new Torimochi, impervious to Mana or force.
I mixed crushed Mana Stones with a slime that drained energy, converting it into new stones. Perfect for Sieve, but mass production needed more slime.
”…Hm? Why does it feel like my Mana’s leaking away?” she asked, bewildered.
Her Soul Core regenerated Mana, but my Torimochi canceled it. Every ten minutes, it spat out Mana Stones, draining her piece by piece.
”I just made sure you can’t cause more trouble. Be glad we’re letting you live,” I said coldly.
”Why? I was only invited!~”
Gods, I wanted to kill her.
She came because of me.
My attempt to make Tatia’s wings credible drew her here. I unleashed this disaster.
”…Kid,” Occhan said, “you made that thing yourself?”
”Just something I improvised. I mixed Mana-draining slime with crushed Mana Stone. It’s rough, but it works.”
Narki-san looked horrified—this trap was poison to high-Mana users. Olive-san reached out curiously until Dalma-san pulled her away.
”Hey~ Rogas, say something~!”
”No, listen,” I snapped. “You ignored the official immigration path Occhan arranged for you. You broke into human territory on your own. If you can’t respect human rules, then go back to Heaven and lock the door behind you!”
The words slipped out. My temper was flaring.
”Now what?” I said. “Thanks to you, Tatia’s image of angelic wings is shattered. We’re past zero—it’s heading straight into negative infinity. She’s one inch away from outright persecution.”
”Kid, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Plain words, please,” Occhan said.
”It’s like a vampire and undead king charming everyone, then preparing instant-death magic.”
”…So it’s completely screwed,” he muttered.
Exactly.
At least Hinagiku-san’s bravery will earn the Karasu Tengu respect, and Ethelena’s actions will soften views on Succubi and Demons. Dahlia’s fight will help Automaton Maidens too.
But Angels will bear the brunt of this hate. It’s inevitable.
Thank the gods there’s no social media.
If there were, purges would’ve started. For now, rumors spread by word of mouth—they’ll eventually fade.
”…Tatara-dono, may I ask something?” Tatia said suddenly.
”What is it?”
She’d followed me to hear the plan, but that plan was gone now.
”I have a fundamental question,” she said. “Who exactly is this person we captured?”
”She’s an idiotic Angel who broke our barrier, entered illegally, caused nearly a hundred casualties—dozens dead—and is a general from a hostile nation.”
”…I beg your pardon?” she said, stunned.
Yeah, that was the proper reaction. I’d had the same one when I first heard it on the way here. How the hell had this flower-brained idiot become a general?
Sure, her combat power was real, but strategy? Paperwork? Forget it. Maybe she was just a ceremonial figurehead.
”So, a foreign general illegally crossed our borders and killed civilians,” I said. “It’d be hard not to take that as a declaration of war.”
”…You mean… this could start a war?”
”Yes, depending on diplomacy.”
Sieve was on foreign soil, and all border crossings required ID. Our bracelets served that purpose.
Ignoring procedure invites tension or war. Even spirits and fae followed this rule.
”But I wasn’t thinking about war at all~,” Sieve protested.
”That’s the problem,” I hissed. “People like you act without thinking, and that’s how misunderstandings and conflict begin. How long have you even lived in the human world? Learn something!”
I cut her off.
She didn’t understand. If she couldn’t adapt, she should’ve stayed in Heaven.
* * *
After sometime later,
”We’re here,” I said finally. “Your special cell.”
Tatia glanced around. “Quite deep underground… one exit only, and if the ceiling collapses you’d be buried alive. What is this place?”
”…A stain of ‘Whirlwind,’” I answered quietly.
”A stain, huh?”
After ten minutes, we reached a spacious cell.
It had running water, a toilet, even a glass-walled shower for surveillance. Old documents said it was used for humanoid research—maybe Demon Lords.
”Kid, this—” Occhan began.
”I’ll leave the Torimochi as is,” I said. “Angels don’t need food or… the other thing anyway.”
By the Goddess’s decree, Angels don’t eat or excrete. They survive anywhere, but it divides them from humans.
Yet they can bear children with us. A bothersome species.
”Muu~ humans are so harsh~,” Sieve whined.
”Shut it already, you damn outsider.”
I stared into Sieve’s eyes and spoke.
”You acted without thinking, and people paid for it. Not just with injuries—with their lives. You destroyed homes, ruined livelihoods. To those of us responsible for this city, your very existence is unforgivable. If I could, I’d kill you where you stand.”
She blinked, not understanding. To her, human suffering was distant noise.
”You probably don’t even understand what makes a human different,” I went on. “But I know this much—I could never see eye to eye with your kind. Are those who don’t worship your god not human to you?”
”Human-san~, that’s not—”
”If that’s not what you think,” I cut in, “then why use your divine power so carelessly, in a place full of unarmed civilians?”
I wasn’t debating.
I was venting—rage and grief. No righteousness, just the need to hurt her with truth.
”You talk about guiding people,” I hissed, “but you’re just a puppet who doesn’t even understand the words carved into its own head. Stay the hell out of human life!”
Sieve stared back, confused—a blank look, hearing only her own echo.
”…The Angel called Almeria served the will of the gods far better than you ever could,” I said quietly.
”What—how does a human even know that name!?”
I smirked. “That reaction tells me everything, defective product.”
Almeria—the name of a heroine from an older story. Born unable to fit the mold of her own race, she chose instead to live among humans, building a new faith in the Goddess of Light. The “defective angel” who became the founder of a holy nation.
Her legend became the canonical tale—so beloved it was rewritten into picture books, her name whispered across generations. Anyone who studied history could find it. She was revered, not as a soldier, but as a symbol of grace.
Some angels tried to follow her.
None succeeded. They saw her success, not her heart.
Their failures piled up.
Rumors spread she was a succubus. Imitators vanished in shame.
The irony was brutal: the so-called “defective” angel had achieved exactly what the Goddess desired most. Among angels, that truth became taboo.
”You could never do what she did,” I told her flatly. “That kind of greatness isn’t yours to claim.”
”That’s not—” she began.
”You’ll say ‘you won’t know unless you try,’ right?” I interrupted. “Typical.”
She didn’t see the gap between herself and her predecessors.
”Do you know how many lives that angel took?” I asked.
”Hmph, why would that matter~?”
”Because knowing the value of life matters, idiot.”
Frustration poisoned me. She was Tatia’s mother’s kin, but I saw nothing of her in her.
”Ten million, maybe?” she guessed.
”The answer’s about three hundred thousand,” I said.
”Eh?”
”Three hundred thousand—mostly livestock for food, or creatures she put down mercifully.”
Almeria’s game was about frontier-building. She couldn’t fight, but longed for human life.
She learned to read, cook, live, and built a village with the protagonist. She tended livestock, laughed, and bore a child, watching the settlement grow.
Later, the town became a nation, worshipping the Goddess.
When her companion died, Almeria abandoned meat, gave away herds, and fasted until returning to Heaven. Sixty years with him—three hundred thousand lives, not through violence, but to sustain.
In truth, she couldn’t stand blood. That’s all, records say.
”And there’s one more thing,” I continued. “She never killed a human. It’s written clearly in Heaven’s archives. She wasn’t a warrior—she never fought monsters either. So in total, three hundred thousand lives, all taken to feed others. Meanwhile, the nation she helped found grew to five million people. Compare that to you. The faith you gain from spilling blood is nothing next to what a ‘defective’ angel earned by holding hands.”
Sieve fell silent. Her country had no state religion—freedom of faith, but four in ten worshiped the war god, two in ten the Goddess.
Angels were barely tolerated, seen as alien. Even two million followers were less than Almeria’s.
Might never wins hearts.
”Because you forced your way in here, people died,” I said. “How do you think their families feel? The Goddess’s own creation stole what they held dear!”
Sieve flinched at my voice.
Her Mana was sealed, her strength drained. It was probably the first time she’d ever felt fear—real, human fear—at being powerless before another.
”Your actions will drive people away from the Goddess,” I said. “Her believers in this city have seen what you did. You’ve turned them against her. So hear me again, creature—go back to Heaven and lock yourself away!”
I poured everything I had into those words, burning with a helpless, ugly rage. I knew it was just vengeance, just noise.
Still, it was all I could do.
”…Sieve,” Occhan said finally, stepping forward. “For this incident, your country will owe reparations. You might not even be returned.”
He waited until my voice died before speaking. His tone was calm, almost procedural.
”It’s true I invited you here,” he admitted. “But I made your entry terms explicit in that letter, didn’t I?”
That confirmation sealed it. Because he’d left a written record, the blame for this tragedy would fall squarely on Sieve. Still, I couldn’t ignore my own part.
I had set the pieces in motion. I’d pay restitution, rebuild for free as a Crafter, and report everything to the City Mayor. Gods willing, she’d accept my letter.
”This is all so troublesome~,”
”Didn’t you come to the human world to understand how complicated it is?” I asked.
”Mmm~, well, that’s—”
”…I’d hoped,” Occhan muttered, “that your words might change her, kid. Guess that was a waste.”
You expected that, old man?
”Tatia changed,” he said softly. “I thought maybe this one could too.”
”Don’t lump them together,” I said, letting out a long sigh. “Tatia worked hard to understand us. This one never even tried.”
I felt guilty saying it in front of her, but Tatia’s mother and Tatia herself—those two couldn’t be more different.
Where the mother looked down on humans, Tatia had learned to look us in the eye. Once, she might’ve seemed distant—something fragile people tiptoed around—but she had always been earnest, always wanted to protect others.
The Angel race saw humans as frail, endangered things to be preserved.
Tatia saw humans as strong—capable of standing up, only needing protection from senseless violence. She almost lost that belief once, brainwashed by those fools at the knight academy, but she fought her way back.
”…Um,” Tatia began hesitantly, “this woman is—”
”Ah~! That’s it!” Sieve suddenly gasped, eyes lighting up. “I knew that Mana signature felt familiar—you’re Or-chan!”
”…What?”
Or-chan. Orsaia.
Her real name. The one only family should’ve known.
”You were so tiny back then, and now look at you~,” Sieve cooed.
”Wait—you… no, it can’t be,” Tatia stammered.
But it could. Her face said it all—she already understood.
”Or-chan~ I’m your mother~,” Sieve sang.
Tatia froze.
Her eyes went wide, hands clapped over her mouth. Whatever sound escaped her throat—it wasn’t quite a word, more a cracked, trembling thing caught between disbelief and grief.
”No… no, that’s… I—”
”…Occhan,” I said quietly, “I’ll take her outside. Handle things here.”
”…Got it.”
”Ah~! Wait, Or-chan!” Sieve cried as we turned away.
I led Tatia out, her steps unsteady. The weight in her chest wasn’t confusion—it was guilt.
The realization that the one who’d slaughtered innocents was her own mother. Even if she hadn’t seen that woman in years, her knight’s pride, her sense of justice, wouldn’t let her separate herself from that blood. She was trapped in it—the cruelest curse of all.
By the time we surfaced, maybe fifteen minutes later, she’d quieted. It was the calm of exhaustion, not peace.
”…Heh,” she whispered at last, standing beneath the open sky. “I really am a monster, aren’t I?”
The wind caught her words, fragile as paper. Her face twisted, caught between shame and sorrow, unsure what to do with the storm building inside her.
”To think I walked among humans, pretending to live like one of them,” she said. “But all I ever did was mimic. I never understood their hearts. I just made the same sounds. Looked down on what I didn’t understand. Treated life as if it meant nothing. What a vile creature I am.”
Her face had gone pale, eyes rimmed with tears.
”To see your own ugliness only after watching others—’Observe others and correct yourself,’ wasn’t it? The ancients really did leave us wisdom worth keeping,” she murmured.
Her gaze was distant, her focus gone. I stepped closer and pulled her into my arms, letting her hear my heartbeat.
”I… am that vile, aren’t I?” she whispered. “Not a monster, but worse—something that tramples innocent lives without even feeling it. I claimed I wanted to be a knight, to protect the people—and yet I’m no different from those academy hypocrites who step on them.”
I tightened my embrace. She clung back with desperate strength.
”I only wanted to be useful to someone,” she cried. “I just wanted a reason to exist! But my blood—my blood turns even life itself into a sin!”
No. No, that wasn’t true.
A child doesn’t inherit a parent’s sin. But she couldn’t see that. Not now.
”My wings brought this curse, didn’t they? My blood killed them! All those people died because of me! Why—why!?”
Her voice broke into sobs, raw and ragged. All I could do was hold her tighter, stroke her hair, and let her cry until the tremors eased.
What words could possibly comfort her?
How could I tell her that her mother’s crimes weren’t hers to bear? That she wasn’t what she feared?
After a while, she pulled back.
Her eyes were swollen, red as sunset. She looked straight at me.
”…Tatara-dono,” she said quietly, “please cancel the armor commission.”
”What? What are you talking about?”
Something in her expression—too calm, too empty—filled me with dread.
”My blood is tainted,” she said. “It brings calamity to this city. If you keep touching these wings, you’ll be defiled too. I can’t bear that.”
”Your blood doesn’t matter,” I said fiercely. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Tatia!”
”No. It’s my sin. My life itself is the sin.”
Her guilt had turned inward, twisting into something dangerous.
”If living is a sin,” I said, “then I’ll carry it with you! I’m the one who tried to make this city accept you! My pride led to this tragedy!”
”No!” she shouted. “If I hadn’t met you, none of this would have happened! It’s my fault alone!”
She was spiraling—locked in the belief that she was the root of it all, refusing to let in any other truth.
”Enough…” she whispered. “Enough, Tatara-san. Don’t be kind to me. Don’t let me stain someone I love any more than I already have.”
Her tone shifted.
Not the knight’s voice anymore. The voice of a girl.
And then, before I could react, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. Soft.
Trembling. One tear slipped down her cheek as she pulled away.
”Goodbye, Tatara-san. I loved you.”
Then she turned and ran.
I wanted to chase her—but my legs wouldn’t move.
What could I possibly say? What could I do?
No. Not now.
Neither of us were thinking clearly. If I chased her like this, I’d only make it worse. I told myself I needed to wait, to give her time—but maybe that was just cowardice dressed as reason.
Either way, I stayed where I was, unmoving beneath the sky that had swallowed her cry.
Notes:
• Dahlia – The automaton.
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi.
• Hinagiku – A tengu woman as Ranka’s potential companion. She stays with Tatara’s group after travels. Joins household scenes only. Linked to Ranka by shared gluttony jokes. No direct tie to Tatara beyond cohabitation. Cheerful eater.
• Dalma – A massive, rugged Explorer with a burly frame and a presence that overshadows others, long considered a battle comrade of Rogas, Calmys, and the mayor. Straightforward and loyal, his trademark is entrusting everything to his allies—“makaseru otoko,” the kind who leaves even the forging of his great axe entirely to Tatara’s hands.
• Rogas – Tatara’s father friend.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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