I was briefly stunned by the shocking confession of the saint, but it didn’t take long for me to regain my dizzy mind.
Let’s not think too deeply.
Trying to judge the work of a Goddess by human standards only gives a headache.
“Pretending as if this didnt happen… would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”
“Just call me by my usual name…”
“Yes, Saint Noa.”
“…Just call me by my usual name.”
“Alright, Noa. I feel somehow sorry…”
“Well, it’s partly my fault, and it’s what the Goddess decided. Offering oneself to the Goddess is the greatest loyalty…”
Was offering herself to the Goddess really that meaningful?
Maybe it’s a bit different?
“And, it felt… strangely good to be connected with Rogue…”
“Lucky for you.”
“But Rogue seem quite peculiar sometimes.”
“Hmm?”
“Sometimes, you feel like a person from a completely different world compared to us. Should I call it reverence? It’s hard to explain… Hmm, maybe it’s just my imagination.”
Person from a different world, huh.
The saint said it as a joke, but it was a painfully accurate description.
I was a reincarnator who remembered his life in a different world, after all.
Maybe I was just someone who got reincarnated into this JRPG-like world, or something.
I’m not sure.
“I’m a Rogue. Loyalty and piety don’t suit me. That’s not the Rogue’s way, is it?”
“Heh, that’s true. But… the clothes Rogue wear these days, aren’t they basically monk’s robes?”
“It’s fashion. Fashion. Wearing monk’s robes as an outer style is quite disrespectful.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m not as sincere as you are, Noa.”
Yeah, I’m a Rogue.
Even in peace, I feel uneasy, and receiving kindness makes me uncomfortable.
It’s only natural for someone who deserves judgment to tremble in order and find solace in chaos.
Only those without guilt seek order and distance themselves from chaos.
If someone deserving judgment feels that fairy tales of poetic justice are unfair, it’s only natural.
“Rogue has his own way, right?”
“Was that question from the Goddess?”
“Yes…”
“Anyway, the Goddess has bad taste…”
Yeah, “I” stole.
I stole fate and was born anew.
Everything I had was stolen and trampled upon by muddy feet, turned into worthless items.
So, everything “I” have now is stolen.
There’s only one thing left that I haven’t stolen.
I stole everything else.
‘That’s right. How could I give my heart to anyone?’
My heart.
Even amidst turmoil and chaos, it was simply “mine”.
This was something I couldn’t steal or be stolen from.
So, I had no choice but to cherish it.
Because I’m greedy.
Even if it seems light enough to fly away at any moment, I have to hold onto it tightly to not let it slip away.
“You know, Noa? The condition for joining the Rogue’s Guild… I mean, how to become a Rogue.”
“…, it’s hard to imagine that Rogue would commit such a deed without reason. Maybe there was some circumstance…”
“Noa.”
The Rogue’s way.
Everyone chooses the Rogue’s way because they have “unavoidable circumstances”.
Even though they know it’s wrong, they intuitively feel that there’s no excuse or justification for it, but they still have an urgent inevitability to choose the Rogue’s way.
The Rogue guild is a place where only those who have chosen the Rogue’s way at a decisive moment can join.
“That condition for joining the Rogue’s guild is committing a murder”
“It doesn’t include murders that are justified, like being a soldier or acting in self-defence, so it’s more like someone who committed ‘innocent murder’.”
“There are also circumstances that the law cannot understand.”
“Thank you for justifying me, but…”
Just as there are no graves without stories, there are no murders without reasons.
We, who know that better than anyone.
“I…”
“Saint. Since it’s a rare vacation, let’s just focus on having fun. Okay? Let’s just think of last night as a game. A one-night prank.”
“…”
“I feel like I just said something really trashy. Right?”
“…I understand.”
It seems like there’s a slight hint of annoyance.
The voice of the Saint, which seems to be grumbling, is unfamiliar…
No, it sounds like it’s the first time I’ve heard it.
It’s not like the Saint.
“I know. That I’m saying terrible things to Saint…”
“Hehe, it’s a joke. Rogue is innocent.”
I smiled back at the Saint, who was trying to laugh it off, and recalled the past.
Before being a comrade of the Hero party that defeated the demon king.
Before being a Rogue who stole the heart of the Emperor.
Before being known as Sentimental, the rogue, made up name in the Rogue’s Guild
“…Rogue, are you okay? Your expression…”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”
It was a memory from when I was a novice murderer, the first time I killed someone.
That pitiful boy was born in the slums.
His parents, who slept under the boards and tin sheets of the slums, weren’t cruel enough to abandon him.
So although he was a child of the slums, he wasn’t an orphan.
He was precious, he had a precious family.
But the fate of the slums doesn’t discriminate based on the presence of parents.
Unlike orphans thrown away to survive, he could learn about virtue in a slightly more sincere way.
His parents made him beg, do odd jobs, sell trinkets, and arranged dangerous jobs like chimney sweeping.
Especially chimney sweeping paid well.
Few people could fit through narrow chimneys, but many wanted it done.
Was having parents in the slums lucky?
Perhaps if you had tried chimney sweeping, you wouldn’t describe that misery with words like misfortune or luck.
It was destiny.
A rule engraved in the bones from the fetus stage, for a child born poor.
‘Please, no more…’
It was a rule that a modern person like ‘me’, who remembered a life without such rules, couldn’t endure.
Even before stealing that pitiful boy’s body, I had consciousness.
And I shared the thoughts, the pain, and the hallucinations that the boy experienced.
The darkness of the chimney, the illusion of flames created by the acrid smell of soot, the feeling of burning lungs, the pain that felt like every muscle in the body was tearing and twisting, the agony, the suffering, the discomfort.
Enduring it just because that ‘pitiful child’ was born under caring parents was an extremely cruel pain.
While the child got the warmth felt in his parents’ arms as an addictive painkiller to overcome the pain, ‘I’ only nurtured hatred and anger towards that warmth.
It wasn’t a kind of emotion that could be explained by vocabulary created by humans to grasp rationality.
‘Please, no more!’
And.
The moment that pitiful child died.
‘I’ was born.
I stole my own body and left my footprints in this world again.
“…Did I… kill someone?”
Killing a person.
Killing the person ‘I’ hated, resented, and was angry at the most.
Killing the person ‘I’ cherished, loved, and held dear the most.
“Ah!”
Those two people were ‘I’ only support.
Even amidst the darkness of the chimney as black as ink and the pain like fiery flames, ‘I’ could endure that time because of the dedicated heart towards those two.
The sole possession, desire, and necessity.
Everything.
Those two people were everything to ‘I’, and ‘I’ casually killed them with a single absurd nail.
Even without hesitation, it was so heartless.
And regret came later.
To ‘I’ who realized the fact of killing someone and was shaking and sobbing late, realizing it.
“Kid.”
It was interesting.
“…Wh-who are you?”
Someone had arrived.
It was a suspicious person wearing a black hood flipped backward.
“It’s my specialty to kill people… if I let you go, you’ll end up being quite a murderer. But then again, looking at you, it doesn’t seem like you’ve developed a taste for it yet… Hmm, it would be a waste to just kill you like this.”
“Am I… going to prison?”
“Prison? Well, if you want, I could send you there, but…”
“As expected, it’s a waste. That talent of yours.”
The person took out a pendant from his pocket and showed it to ‘I’.
At that time, I didn’t know, but it was a symbol of the Rogue.
Smirking while showing the Rogue’s emblem, the suspicious person extended his hand to ‘I’ and said,
“In my opinion, you’re more suited to be a Rogue than a prisoner.”
“A Rogue?”
“If one choses the Rogue’s way, then anyone has the qualifications of a Rogue. Don’t you want to try doing something bad?”
I grabbed that hand.
I don’t remember what I was thinking at that moment.
Maybe because I was so disoriented, I might have just reached out without any thought.
But there was one thing that was clear.
“Alright. The contract is established.”
Now I had to live as the Rogue.
I was briefly stunned by the shocking confession of the saint, but it didn’t take long for me to regain my dizzy mind.
Let’s not think too deeply.
Trying to judge the work of a Goddess by human standards only gives a headache.
“Pretending as if this didnt happen… would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”
“Just call me by my usual name…”
“Yes, Saint Noa.”
“…Just call me by my usual name.”
“Alright, Noa. I feel somehow sorry…”
“Well, it’s partly my fault, and it’s what the Goddess decided. Offering oneself to the Goddess is the greatest loyalty…”
Was offering herself to the Goddess really that meaningful?
Maybe it’s a bit different?
“And, it felt… strangely good to be connected with Rogue…”
“Lucky for you.”
“But Rogue seem quite peculiar sometimes.”
“Hmm?”
“Sometimes, you feel like a person from a completely different world compared to us. Should I call it reverence? It’s hard to explain… Hmm, maybe it’s just my imagination.”
Person from a different world, huh.
The saint said it as a joke, but it was a painfully accurate description.
I was a reincarnator who remembered his life in a different world, after all.
Maybe I was just someone who got reincarnated into this JRPG-like world, or something.
I’m not sure.
“I’m a Rogue. Loyalty and piety don’t suit me. That’s not the Rogue’s way, is it?”
“Heh, that’s true. But… the clothes Rogue wear these days, aren’t they basically monk’s robes?”
“It’s fashion. Fashion. Wearing monk’s robes as an outer style is quite disrespectful.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m not as sincere as you are, Noa.”
Yeah, I’m a Rogue.
Even in peace, I feel uneasy, and receiving kindness makes me uncomfortable.
It’s only natural for someone who deserves judgment to tremble in order and find solace in chaos.
Only those without guilt seek order and distance themselves from chaos.
If someone deserving judgment feels that fairy tales of poetic justice are unfair, it’s only natural.
“Rogue has his own way, right?”
“Was that question from the Goddess?”
“Yes…”
“Anyway, the Goddess has bad taste…”
Yeah, “I” stole.
I stole fate and was born anew.
Everything I had was stolen and trampled upon by muddy feet, turned into worthless items.
So, everything “I” have now is stolen.
There’s only one thing left that I haven’t stolen.
I stole everything else.
‘That’s right. How could I give my heart to anyone?’
My heart.
Even amidst turmoil and chaos, it was simply “mine”.
This was something I couldn’t steal or be stolen from.
So, I had no choice but to cherish it.
Because I’m greedy.
Even if it seems light enough to fly away at any moment, I have to hold onto it tightly to not let it slip away.
“You know, Noa? The condition for joining the Rogue’s Guild… I mean, how to become a Rogue.”
“…, it’s hard to imagine that Rogue would commit such a deed without reason. Maybe there was some circumstance…”
“Noa.”
The Rogue’s way.
Everyone chooses the Rogue’s way because they have “unavoidable circumstances”.
Even though they know it’s wrong, they intuitively feel that there’s no excuse or justification for it, but they still have an urgent inevitability to choose the Rogue’s way.
The Rogue guild is a place where only those who have chosen the Rogue’s way at a decisive moment can join.
“That condition for joining the Rogue’s guild is committing a murder”
“It doesn’t include murders that are justified, like being a soldier or acting in self-defence, so it’s more like someone who committed ‘innocent murder’.”
“There are also circumstances that the law cannot understand.”
“Thank you for justifying me, but…”
Just as there are no graves without stories, there are no murders without reasons.
We, who know that better than anyone.
“I…”
“Saint. Since it’s a rare vacation, let’s just focus on having fun. Okay? Let’s just think of last night as a game. A one-night prank.”
“…”
“I feel like I just said something really trashy. Right?”
“…I understand.”
It seems like there’s a slight hint of annoyance.
The voice of the Saint, which seems to be grumbling, is unfamiliar…
No, it sounds like it’s the first time I’ve heard it.
It’s not like the Saint.
“I know. That I’m saying terrible things to Saint…”
“Hehe, it’s a joke. Rogue is innocent.”
I smiled back at the Saint, who was trying to laugh it off, and recalled the past.
Before being a comrade of the Hero party that defeated the demon king.
Before being a Rogue who stole the heart of the Emperor.
Before being known as Sentimental, the rogue, made up name in the Rogue’s Guild
“…Rogue, are you okay? Your expression…”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”
It was a memory from when I was a novice murderer, the first time I killed someone.
That pitiful boy was born in the slums.
His parents, who slept under the boards and tin sheets of the slums, weren’t cruel enough to abandon him.
So although he was a child of the slums, he wasn’t an orphan.
He was precious, he had a precious family.
But the fate of the slums doesn’t discriminate based on the presence of parents.
Unlike orphans thrown away to survive, he could learn about virtue in a slightly more sincere way.
His parents made him beg, do odd jobs, sell trinkets, and arranged dangerous jobs like chimney sweeping.
Especially chimney sweeping paid well.
Few people could fit through narrow chimneys, but many wanted it done.
Was having parents in the slums lucky?
Perhaps if you had tried chimney sweeping, you wouldn’t describe that misery with words like misfortune or luck.
It was destiny.
A rule engraved in the bones from the fetus stage, for a child born poor.
‘Please, no more…’
It was a rule that a modern person like ‘me’, who remembered a life without such rules, couldn’t endure.
Even before stealing that pitiful boy’s body, I had consciousness.
And I shared the thoughts, the pain, and the hallucinations that the boy experienced.
The darkness of the chimney, the illusion of flames created by the acrid smell of soot, the feeling of burning lungs, the pain that felt like every muscle in the body was tearing and twisting, the agony, the suffering, the discomfort.
Enduring it just because that ‘pitiful child’ was born under caring parents was an extremely cruel pain.
While the child got the warmth felt in his parents’ arms as an addictive painkiller to overcome the pain, ‘I’ only nurtured hatred and anger towards that warmth.
It wasn’t a kind of emotion that could be explained by vocabulary created by humans to grasp rationality.
‘Please, no more!’
And.
The moment that pitiful child died.
‘I’ was born.
I stole my own body and left my footprints in this world again.
“…Did I… kill someone?”
Killing a person.
Killing the person ‘I’ hated, resented, and was angry at the most.
Killing the person ‘I’ cherished, loved, and held dear the most.
“Ah!”
Those two people were ‘I’ only support.
Even amidst the darkness of the chimney as black as ink and the pain like fiery flames, ‘I’ could endure that time because of the dedicated heart towards those two.
The sole possession, desire, and necessity.
Everything.
Those two people were everything to ‘I’, and ‘I’ casually killed them with a single absurd nail.
Even without hesitation, it was so heartless.
And regret came later.
To ‘I’ who realized the fact of killing someone and was shaking and sobbing late, realizing it.
“Kid.”
It was interesting.
“…Wh-who are you?”
Someone had arrived.
It was a suspicious person wearing a black hood flipped backward.
“It’s my specialty to kill people… if I let you go, you’ll end up being quite a murderer. But then again, looking at you, it doesn’t seem like you’ve developed a taste for it yet… Hmm, it would be a waste to just kill you like this.”
“Am I… going to prison?”
“Prison? Well, if you want, I could send you there, but…”
“As expected, it’s a waste. That talent of yours.”
The person took out a pendant from his pocket and showed it to ‘I’.
At that time, I didn’t know, but it was a symbol of the Rogue.
Smirking while showing the Rogue’s emblem, the suspicious person extended his hand to ‘I’ and said,
“In my opinion, you’re more suited to be a Rogue than a prisoner.”
“A Rogue?”
“If one choses the Rogue’s way, then anyone has the qualifications of a Rogue. Don’t you want to try doing something bad?”
I grabbed that hand.
I don’t remember what I was thinking at that moment.
Maybe because I was so disoriented, I might have just reached out without any thought.
But there was one thing that was clear.
“Alright. The contract is established.”
Now I had to live as the Rogue.
