HEO 70

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣ ⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Execute. Play related audio recording.〕

The white panel that had appeared in front of Black Weasel smoothly closed. When it reopened, new text appeared.

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Waiting for record access permission……〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Permission verified—Connection established〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Tracking audio recording……〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Audio Playback〕

The next moment, Black Weasel flinched as if he were punched in the gut. Suddenly, a sound filled his ears. A deep, muffled, and overwhelming silence. It was the voice of the river. Black Weasel clenched his fists.

The silence lasted for a while. Only the occasional sound of bursting bubbles drifted in like insects. The silence that had weighed on his ears was soon shattered. A dull presence suddenly intruded. This was followed by a sudden explosion of noise. The sound of crashing waves. The howling of wild animals carried on the wind. The splashing of swimming. Rough curses.

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Fuck! Fuck!〕

Black Weasel’s eyes widened. That voice is Silver’s?!

He jumped into the river and pulled my head out!

***

Black Weasel was a slave. To be precise, the son of a slave’s son. A third-generation slave.

They say his great-grandfather was a valiant warrior. Though his head was severed by a warrior from another tribe. He was probably furious. But Black Weasel was not. Neither was his father, mother, or siblings.

What Black Weasel and his family enjoyed as slaves: First, treatment equivalent to that of a butler. Two, a decent house and delicious meals. Three, the unwavering trust and love of the chieftain and his wife. 

Black Weasel lived without complaint. Frankly, he believed it was a more substantial life than that of warriors mobilized for tribal conflicts, where limbs were severed if they were unlucky, or their heads if they were just as unlucky. At least, until he was twenty-three.

The first misfortune struck suddenly.

Late at night, the master and mistress secretly summoned Black Weasel.

‘You already know. All the children we had before were mutants.’

It was a common story. Childless couples summoning a slave in the middle of the night. Couples who had only given birth to mutants summoning a slave in the middle of the night.

‘You’re going to be the biological father of the next tribal chief. We promise to treat you accordingly. However, what happens tonight must remain a secret you will carry in the grave.’

Judging by the master’s tone, this wasn’t the first time. Hidden behind the generous treatment Black Weasel’s family had received for generations was this very secret. That night, Black Weasel did his “family duty” with all his might.

The second misfortune.

A child was born. A son. But he was identified as a mutant again.

The mistress went mad and fled with the child. Ah, but not before she killed the old woman who had identified the mutation. No one counted them one by one, but they said there were as many as thirty-six stab wounds left on the corpse. For several days, the master and Black Weasel stayed up all night, drinking together.

The third misfortune.

In the dead of night, another tribe attacked. Every member of the tribe was killed, with only children under the age of ten spared. Black Weasel lost all his parents and siblings and fled.

After that, he became a wanderer. One day, when he came to his senses, he found himself being touted as a promising assassin. It was during his daily struggle to make a living that he discovered the truth: the sudden attack on the tribe had been the work of the son of the old woman who had been killed by the mistress. They say that the bastard, who was a priest just like his mother, had bewitched some foolish tribal chief into ordering the attack.

Black Weasel carried out his revenge without hesitation. He kidnapped the opposing tribal chief and the trait-identifier’s son, and used various methods to kill them slowly. He tried his best to repay them in kind for what the tribe had suffered, though he always wondered if he had paid them back exactly. In any case, he tried.

After finishing his calculations, he returned to his usual spot. Days spent repeating lonely, sometimes hungry, always dangerous, and largely meaningless tasks. On the rare lucky days, he would dream of walking among his tribe.

All of this happened before he met Silver again.

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Shit! Damn it!〕

Silver’s curses were followed by bursts of laughter and whistling. It was the warriors watching Silver from the warship. Wolf’s voice followed suit.

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Don’t go!〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Come back! Come back, please!〕

“Enough!”

Black Weasel shouted.

“That’s it! I’ve assessed the situation, so cut the noise!”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Confirmed. Audio playback terminated.〕

The sound was abruptly cut off. Black Weasel turned around once and headed toward the village. He grew increasingly anxious. The weight of time, which he had momentarily forgotten amid this absurd and senseless chain of events, came back to haunt him.

Five years.

It was a long time. Besides, it had been two years since Silver had manifested as a Spruce. Director Erem’s voice echoed in Black Weasel’s ears.

‘According to one legend, a Spruce that drinks the blood of an Ash loses their mating instinct afterward.’

‘It doesn’t disappear completely; a strong reaction remains toward the individual who provided the blood. But that only happens when they’re close to each other.’

‘It doesn’t even require much blood. The legend only mentions that the Spruce sucked up a little blood that had flowed from the Ash’s injured finger.’

He had taken advantage of Silver’s slumber to feed him a spoonful of Wolf’s blood. However…

‘Since it’s a legend, the exact dosage might vary. In extreme cases, it might require a whole bathtub’s worth.’

…If the required amount wasn’t a spoonful but a whole bathtub, by now Silver would be…

‘In folklore, there are numerous cases where mutants were offered as ‘sacred sacrifices.’ There are also quite a few records of mutants voluntarily participating in the ritual.’

‘Cats and dogs go wild during mating season. Mutants must have been a headache for tribal societies too. The pretext of offering them to the gods was likely the safest and most rational means of isolation. The mutants probably accepted it willingly. They must have believed it was the best option to end their recurring physiological suffering.’

‘By the way, in many folklore tales, suicide is the most common fate for mutants.’

Suicide.

Black Weasel subconsciously quickened his pace. No. No! My son, born with a genius for battle, the sole heir who must one day rebuild the tribe, he wouldn’t…

The village was getting closer. Black Weasel charged toward the first house he saw. With a single kick, the door crashed to the ground. Inside, a family eating dinner froze. They stared at him with spoons still raised to their mouths.

After enough time had passed to empty a barrel of liquor, Black Weasel walked out of the house with a confident gait. Unlike when he’d entered, he was fully dressed and even wore a heavy pouch of silver coins at his waist. From behind, the sound of a baby crying and profanities loud enough to make a sailor blush followed him.

“Ugh, making such a fuss just because I borrowed some clothes and money.”

Black Weasel brushed his robe with his fingertips. He yanked the axe stuck in the tree stump in front of the house and walked away with heavy steps.

“Hey, Evil Spirit.”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔I am a tool.〕

“Huh? You’re answering? Didn’t you say your only mission was to revive me?”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Correct.〕

“Then why are you still talking to me?”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔First, there are no existing regulations prohibiting verbal exchange with the host entity. Second, you spoke to me first.〕

“What does ‘host entity’ mean… Never mind. Anyway, you’re saying you can at least be a conversation partner?”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔That is correct.〕

Black Weasel pondered. Chatting with an evil spirit? He never would have imagined it. If he played this right, maybe he could use this for intelligence gathering?

“Let me ask you one thing. You said this world doesn’t recognize anyone who has been resurrected more than once, right? What’s the reason?”

He asked a random question just to test the waters. The tool immediately answered.

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Based on statistical evidence and observational data. This is because biological resurrection that conforms to the natural order occurs with considerable frequency in this world.〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Example: A subject suffers cardiac arrest due to a myocardial infarction, reaching a state of clinical biological death. Another human immediately performs chest compressions and secures the airway. Circulatory function is restored within an acceptable timeframe. The subject returns to an operational state.〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Therefore, a single instance of resurrection is not recognized as an error in this world. However, if the same subject repeats resurrection two or more times, it is judged to be ‘unauthorized external intervention,’ and after review, the error is corrected.〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔That error correction is the that was applied to you.〕

Even amidst the flood of incomprehensible terms, the context became clear. Beads of sweat formed on Black Weasel’s temples. It felt as though he had just overheard a terrifying secret.

“Hey, what you just said… that sounds like really important information. Is it fine to just blurt that out like that? What if I spread the word?”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Calculating expected reaction… Will result in social isolation.〕

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Summary. High probability you’ll be labeled the only lunatic.〕

He couldn’t argue. Black Weasel thought it over a bit longer before speaking.

“Then, about Silver Wolf whose existence was erased along with mine. Did he completely forget me or have his memories distorted like everyone else?”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Calculating… Conclusion. Low probability.〕

“He still remembers me? Why?”

⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁠⁠⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠⁣⁣⁣⁣⁠⁠⁣⁣⁣⁠〔Your memory is intact. Silver Wolf, who was erased in the same manner, also has a high probability of retaining his memory intact.〕

In other words, Silver hadn’t forgotten his biological father. And his past had been whitewashed as well! Relief and joy made Black Weasel’s heart pound. He hadn’t wanted it, but dying had truly been the right choice.

Now all I have to do is find Silver. But how do I find him?

He forced himself to push aside the desperate possibility of suicide. Whose son was he? He was the kind of guy who’d endure anything, even if it meant chaining his own ankles, when his heat cycle hits. Therefore, he would focus solely on finding Silver. It didn’t matter if he died along the way. He would revive two more times, so he had plenty of time.