Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Decision (2)

Anagin, seated atop the dead boar, spoke.

He said he would become a god.

It was the kind of declaration anyone could dismiss as delusion. A mere human, aspiring to godhood.

Yet, for some reason, the man called Master was not surprised in the slightest. After all, he was the very one who had said there was a way for a human to become a god.

“Ho, so you mean to become an Ascetic?”

“Ascetic, whatever—if it means I can become a god, I don’t care what it’s called.”

Anagin climbed down from the boar carcass and answered. Then he built a fire and tore off chunks of the dead boar’s meat to roast.

Having barely eaten while nursing his younger sister, hunger had belatedly caught up with him.

Sizzle, sizzle.

Along with the sound of meat roasting, a savory smell spread through the air, and Anagin tore off a large bite and ate.

Master spoke to him as he ate.

“I figured you weren’t interested in that sort of thing.”

“I am now… Call me fickle—my heart’s like a reed. So I’ll ask: if I become an Ascetic, can I really become a god?”

An Ascetic was a term for those who accumulated karma to reach a higher existence—be it king, hero, great man, or sage.

It was an unfamiliar concept in the village where Anagin was born, but Master, who had come from outside, had told him such beings existed.

That there were those who piled up karma to be reborn as something higher.

It had been a story he couldn’t care less about, but now he did.

“I can’t say for certain.”

Anagin, mid-chew, shot Master a look that said, What bullshit is that? He’d just been coaxed into believing it was possible, and now it wasn’t certain? Was this a joke?

Master must have read the accusation in his eyes, because he explained.

“Truth be told, there aren’t many Ascetics who actually aim for godhood.”

“So there are some.”

Master shrugged as if to say, That’s right.

Anagin decided to let it go for now. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do, anyway.

Master watched him for a moment, then glanced at the graves that had multiplied in the village cemetery and asked.

“Your younger sister… she died?”

“Yes.”

Master offered a brief condolence.

“I’m sorry. She was a sweet, lovely child—unlike you.”

“I know. I even tried praying, wondering if the gods might know. It was no use.”

“Praying? You?”

Master looked genuinely surprised.

And well he might—he knew better than anyone that Anagin saw prayer as nothing more than begging.

As proof, even when the plague had killed Anagin’s parents and nearly everyone in the village last winter, he had not prayed. Not once.

And yet, here he was, admitting with his own mouth that he had prayed. It was impossible not to be astonished.

“Remarkable. You, of all people, praying… How did it feel?”

“Honestly? At first, it put my heart at ease. Handing my burden off to someone else.”

Anagin admitted it plainly.

In that first prayer of his life, he had felt, for a moment, at peace.

“But before long, it started to feel filthy.”

Anagin looked at his younger sister’s grave.

The grave of a sister who had died for nothing, her life entrusted to someone else.

If he hadn’t prayed at all—would something have changed? He wondered.

Would she have died anyway? And even if she had, would he have been spared that filthy feeling of having left his sister’s fate in another’s hands?

Anagin mulled it over, then dropped it.

It was a pointless thought.

“Is that why you want to become a god? To wash away that filthy feeling?”

Master, who knew him, guessed.

Anagin didn’t deny it.

“Yes. I figure if I become one of those high-and-mighty gods, maybe that filthy feeling will disappear… Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Master let out a soft laugh at the last reason, tacked on so casually.

It was far too flippant a reason for something as grand as becoming a god…

But he didn’t mock it. He knew Anagin meant it.

“It won’t be easy. Becoming a god.”

“I don’t care. Easy or hard isn’t the question—it’s whether I do it or not. Which reminds me, I’d like to ask a favor.”

“Go ahead.”

“Could you bring the Village Chief? I need to hold my sister’s funeral.”

---

Master went to fetch the Village Chief, as asked.

In the meantime, Anagin tossed the dead boar’s carcass far away and began preparing for the funeral.

Normally, this kind of tedious work would have fallen to the village elders or his friends, but as the plague wore on, it had fallen to Anagin as well.

Whether that was a good thing or a shitty thing, he couldn’t say.

“Cough—! Cough—! …You’ve finished preparing already?”

Just as he completed the simple funeral arrangements, someone approached.

It was the Village Chief, supported by Master.

The Chief looked smaller than the last time Anagin had seen him. The plague had apparently weakened him further.

“Have you gotten shorter?”

“Huff…! Huff…! You cheeky little brat!”

The Chief had barely taken a few steps, yet he was already gasping for breath. Even so, his temper hadn’t died—he still managed to bark.

Having scolded and caught his breath, the Chief looked around, then stood before the grave where the younger sister was buried.

“She was a good child. Better than you.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

The Chief grasped Anagin’s arm with a withered hand, as if to lift it. It was a stark contrast to Anagin’s arm, corded with lean muscle.

“I’m sorry.”

He’d heard it countless times already, but it never grew tiresome. There was too much sincerity packed into that one word.

Then again, the Chief, who bore responsibility for the village, had suffered a tragedy far worse than Anagin’s in a sense.

He had lost the people under his care, moment by moment.

“…It can’t be helped. Let’s hold the funeral.”

The Chief nodded silently and the funeral proceeded at once.

A funeral amounted to little more than praying for the deceased’s rest and offering drink and food, but…

Still, once that small ritual was done, Anagin felt as though he had finished something enormous. The feeling that now, at last, he could leave.

“You’re going to become an Ascetic?”

After the funeral, the Chief approached and spoke. He must have heard it from Master on the way here.

“That man’s got a loose tongue. Running his mouth already… Yes. I’ve got nothing better to do, so I figured I’d try being an Ascetic.”

“Then you’ll have to leave the village.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll bury you before I go.”

The Chief smiled and shook his head.

“It’s the opposite. If you’re going to leave, leave right now.”

At the unexpected words, Anagin’s brow twisted.

The Chief laughed heartily.

“To think you’d make a face like that. Is this the first time I’ve seen it—or the second?”

“Hearing you talk nonsense, I’d say you’re about ready to kick the bucket, Chief.”

“Still just a child. Life has its timing, you know.”

“If you want to play teacher, do it tomorrow. For now, get some rest—”

“—It’s because of this. Right now! Anagin!!”

The Chief called his name and pointed.

The Chief, who had also served as the village children’s teacher, had a sharp edge to his scolding that made even Anagin flinch for a moment.

“Human will is invisible, and it is astonishingly strong—but also astonishingly weak. Put off today, and tomorrow you’ll put off two more days.”

Anagin wanted to say he wasn’t that kind of person, but he couldn’t.

He knew that strength alone didn’t let you do everything, and more than anything, there was a certain force in the Chief’s voice—a persuasiveness. The peculiar power of one who had led a community.

“…Is that from experience?”

The Chief didn’t answer, only smiled. That was answer enough.

Perhaps it wasn’t wrong. As the Chief said, the human heart was invisible—strong and weak at once.

If he stayed in the village until the Chief died, he might find a new reason he couldn’t leave.

But one thing bothered him.

If he left now, who would bury the Chief?

The only people alive in this village were Anagin, the Chief, and Master.

If Anagin left like this, there would be no one to deal with the Chief’s corpse. It would just rot and putrefy, swarming with worms. He didn’t care for that at all.

“I’ll do it in your place.”

Master, who had been listening in on the conversation, approached and offered.

“You will, Master?”

“Yes. As payment for silently taking in an outsider who wouldn’t even give his name.”

Master had come to this village several years ago, and he had stayed ever since.

When Master first arrived, the village had been in an uproar.

Outsiders were rare in this village, and an outsider whose hair and beard shone like gold was rarer still. Anagin was blond too, but…

In any case, some of the villagers were understandably wary of Master.

They said they couldn’t take in an outsider of unknown identity who wouldn’t even reveal his name.

‘I threw away my name long ago. Just call me whatever you like.’

This was why Anagin called him Master. Since he didn’t know his name, he had no choice but to call him by his role or relationship.

Some of the villagers advised the Chief to drive the stranger out.

They said they couldn’t let a suspicious outsider who wouldn’t even give his name into the village, and on top of that, his reason for coming was far too suspicious.

‘I’m told what I’m looking for is in this forest… What am I looking for? I don’t know exactly myself, so it’s hard to say.’

An outsider who had stirred up wariness in a quiet village, revealing neither name nor purpose.

When the debate over the outsider was at its height, the outsider made a proposal.

He said he would be of great help to the village. That he had many skills and would surely be useful.

It would have been easy to dismiss as nonsense, but the Chief, not wanting to cause unnecessary trouble, accepted the outsider’s offer—and soon learned that Master’s words were no bluff.

There was no telling what he had done before, but Master was a man of truly astonishing skills.

Carpentry, farming, brewing, beekeeping, tanning, medicine… He was top-class at all of it.

Even Gus, the village’s best carpenter, Parn, its best farmer, and Royce, its brewer, learned from him.

There wasn’t a single villager who hadn’t received Master’s teaching, and everyone came to call him Teacher, or Master.

That Master spoke.

“I’ve got something I’m looking for, so I need to stay in this village a while longer anyway. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Is that so.”

The Chief accepted Master’s words immediately and looked at Anagin. In the end, Anagin nodded. In a situation like this, refusing would make him a man of words alone.

Hearing his confirmation, the Chief told Anagin to follow him and headed to his house.

The Chief had Anagin wait outside for a moment, then came back with dried meat, bread, and some clothes.

“Things I’ve got no more use for. Better someone uses them than lets them rot. You may be a cheeky brat, but you’re the village’s hero.”

“I’d have appreciated it more if you’d left out the ‘cheeky brat’ part… Well, either way, I’ll accept them gratefully.”

“Ah, take this too.”

The Chief pulled a small pouch from his breast and held it out.

Anagin opened it and soon saw gold and silver coins gleaming round.

Coins.

“When I was young, a merchant family visited this village. They gave me these when they bought food.”

Anagin thought, Figures. Otherwise, there was no way coins would exist in this village.

The Chief murmured in a voice steeped in nostalgia.

“They used to tell me stories of the outside. Of cities where countless people gather, and of heroes who defeat villains.”

“Was that when it started? Your wish to leave the village.”

“Yes. I couldn’t leave—the timing never worked out… Anyway, they say this money is more useful out there, so take it.”

The Chief pressed the coin pouch into Anagin’s hand. Perhaps he was pressing his own dreams and memories into it.

The dream and memories of his youth—of leaving the village and seeing the world.

“I’d feel bad just sending you off empty-handed, too.”

In the middle of this touching moment, Master cut in uninvited. In his gloved hand was a lump of gold.

“Gold’s as good as money. Use it when you need it. It’ll come in handy.”

The glittering gold did seem like it would be useful. Anagin gladly took it and tucked it into his clothes.

“Thank you.”

“Is that everything, then?”

“No, there’s one more thing I need to do before I leave.”

Anagin said that and headed for his house. More precisely, the place that had been his house.

---

Whoosh…!

Anagin burned the house down with the bonfire he’d used to roast the boar.

The small, old hut where his father, mother, and younger sister had lived burned with eerie speed, turning to ash. As if telling him to hurry and leave this place.

Perhaps Anagin wasn’t the only one who felt that way, because Master, standing beside him, remarked.

“Perhaps it’s fate.”

“Fate?”

“They say Giants like you and me are led somewhere by fate. That we’re meant to do great things to match our great power.”

“Do you know where this ‘fate’ lives?”

“Hmm? Why?”

“If I knew, I’d go find this fate bastard and slap him across the face.”

“Pfft—!”

Master burst out laughing through his golden beard. It hadn’t been a joke—Anagin had meant it.

Wiping the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes, Master said.

“Ah, sorry. It’s been a long time since I heard something so refreshing. Fate really is the kind of thing that deserves a good slap. Though it isn’t a bastard.”

“…?”

“You’d best be going now.”

As Anagin tilted his head at Master’s words, the Chief cut in. The house was nearly burned down, so it really was time to leave.

As Anagin rose to his feet, Master asked.

“You’ll want to get out as fast as you can, right? The forest.”

“Well, yes. If I keep running, I’ll get out eventually. But where should I go?”

Anagin, who had never left the village in his life, asked where he should go to escape the village and the forest.

Master shook his head.

“There’s a more certain way than walking.”

Anagin couldn’t make sense of that. Just as he was about to ask what nonsense that was, Master grabbed his wrist and the scruff of his neck.

Then, with all his strength, he hurled Anagin toward the sky.

Along with the unfamiliar sensation of his feet leaving the ground, Anagin’s body lost its weight for an instant, and he soared high into the sky.

Master, the Chief, and the village shrank to the size of ants.

And so, Anagin left the village in a form he had never imagined.

As he left, Anagin shouted at Master.

“You crazy son of a—!”

---

Hurled skyward by his teacher’s hand, Anagin vanished like a star.

The Chief watched Anagin go. He wasn’t particularly surprised.

A man throwing another man high into the sky was certainly a spectacular sight, but he had seen it before—back when Master had defeated Anagin and taken him as his disciple. So he simply accepted it.

If you were going to play master to a boy who could kill beasts bare-handed, you had to be an even bigger monster yourself. Sending a person flying into the sky was hardly impressive by comparison.

The Chief’s legs seemed to have lost their strength; he settled onto a suitable rock and looked at Master.

The man with the shining golden hair dusted off his hands, as if he had just finished a great task.

The Chief spoke to the golden-haired man.

“So you’ll be leaving now as well, Master.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your business is done. Surely it’s time for you to go.”

Step. Step…

Master stood before the Chief. Unlike his usual friendly self, he now gave off an oppressive air that was hard to put into words.

“You speak as though you know something.”

“Would it mean anything to say it now?”

Master thought for a moment, then spoke.

“Hah… Let me make one thing clear. This plague is not something I spread.”

“I know. I know what this absurd disease is. I only ask that you keep the corpses from being damaged. The beasts here bear us plenty of grudge—they might dig up the graves.”

“I don’t mind doing it after you’ve fallen asleep, Chief.”

“I’m a dead man either way. I don’t want to cling to life in some wretched way. I’d rather end it by my own will, while it still means something.”

Hearing the Chief’s resolve, Master silently removed the gloves from his hands.

He wore them every day, so one might have expected scars—but Master’s hands were perfectly clean. As if they had never known rough work. What kind of birth did it take to have hands like these?

Master raised his bare hand. The Chief, recalling the past, murmured.

“A king who was once blessed by a god and became the wealthiest in the world—but who lost his daughter and his kingdom to that very blessing. A king of misfortune.”

Master slowly lowered his raised hand.

“A king of sin, who rose in rebellion against the gods out of rage.”

As Master’s hand touched the Chief,

“Midas of the Golden Hand.”

Everything in the village—the Chief included—turned to gold.