Chapter 24
Draksan gripped the axe tightly.
He stared at the man before him—Justin.
He recalled the atrocities Justin had committed.
‘I hate him.’
Deputy Chief Justin. No, he had said he beca Chief today.
Chief Justin had concealed the fact that Lena had awakened.
Draksan learned only later, through Hardi, that Lena had regained consciousness.
When he appealed in hopes of reducing his sentence even slightly, it was dismissed for exceeding the deadline.
At the very least, he had begged to see Lena—if only for a mont.
He had pleaded with Justin, asking only to confirm with his own eyes that Lena had truly awakened.
‘Every request was denied.’
Justin had excused himself by saying it was “for the sake of procedure,” but that was not the truth.
Draksan knew he was being sacrificed—for so ideology, so belief, or for the stability of society.
More than anger, he felt exhaustion.
How long must he continue to live only as a victim?
“Woo, woo!”
But if he beca War Chief, he would be free.
He could cast aside the suffocating laws and order and live by the familiar, comforting logic of strength and violence.
“Woo, woo!”
“Kill Justin! Beco our great War Chief!”
As War Chief, he could lead his people proudly.
Kill those who obstruct him. Take what he needed.
“Woo, woo!”
“Lead our kin to liberation!”
If he beca War Chief, there would be no more injustice.
No more being denied paynt for hunting a Monster, unable to pay Lena’s hospital bills.
If injustice arose, he could simply lead his kin and retaliate.
Life would beco simpler. Easier.
“Woo, woo!”
“Woo, woo!”
He could begin a new life.
Not as the weak—but reborn as the strong.
Thump. Thump.
As he imagined it, his blood began to boil.
Steam rose from his heated skin.
His vision began to blur.
‘A precursor of Intermittent Explosive Disorder.’
Draksan instinctively began taking deep breaths to calm his anger.
Then a question struck him.
Intermittent Explosive Disorder is a disease.
A disease of being unable to restrain one’s anger.
But that was only true within the Kingdom.
‘Why should I restrain my anger?’
Among the barbarians—no, among the Rock Hunter Tribe—a powerful warrior who was unable to restrain his fury was worshiped and praised as a Berserker.
The Rock Hunter Tribe revered the strong and despised the weak.
And he was strong.
Worthy of reverence.
Why should he restrain himself?
‘Why should I?’
Why had he struggled so desperately to suppress the anger boiling within him?
Was not restraint the duty of the weak—and rage the right of the strong?
If he surrendered himself to the anger and violence etched into his blood—if he entrusted himself to instinct—Everything would beco easier.
He raised the axe.
“Draksan!”
A voice rang out.
For a fleeting mont, his blurred vision cleared.
***
“C-Chief!”
“They really intended to offer the Chief as a sacrifice……!”
Nyxle and the accompanying investigators spoke.
My prediction had been correct.
The barbarians intended to offer Chief Justin as a sacrifice.
A sacrifice to elevate Draksan as War Chief.
Erisa raised her finger, as if preparing to cast a spell to sever Draksan’s shoulder or arm and stop him.
“No.”
I grabbed Erisa’s wrist and stopped her.
From a distance, I could see Draksan holding the axe.
“……It is too late.”
His eyes were half unfocused.
As the one who had treated him, I could tell.
That was the look in his eyes when Intermittent Explosive Disorder began to take hold.
Draksan’s axe already rested upon Justin’s neck.
If he let it drop even slightly, Justin’s head would roll.
Moreover, the barbarians surrounding Draksan were guarding against our approach.
If we tried to stop this by force, a battle would break out.
Not only would Justin die—It would further provoke Draksan’s fury.
‘……That does not an there is no way.’
If Draksan overca his anger.
If he restrained the urge to kill Justin.
If, more hopefully, he forgave him entirely…
‘Is it possible?’
I wanted to believe it was.
I wanted to believe the ti I had spent treating him had not been in vain.
“Draksan!”
But what should I say?
What words could calm his anger?
If I carelessly touched upon his emotions, it would backfire.
‘Lengthy persuasion will not work.’
I searched my mory and chose my words.
“Draksan, you know Hardi, do you not!”
Not Lena—but Hardi.
Why that na ca to mind at that mont, I could not fully explain.
It was instinct.
A sense that that na could move Draksan’s heart.
I prayed that my instinct was not wrong.
***
‘Hardi?’
For a brief mont, sothing flickered in Draksan’s eyes.
But only for a mont.
He could not imdiately recall who that was.
“Hardi, the son of Monster Tar Hadler!”
At those words, the outline began to form.
‘Hardi, Hardi, Hardi…… Ah.’
He rembered.
The son of Monster Tar Hadler.
He looked even more ferocious than Hadler. As a child, he seed destined to beco a murderer.
Though he had never admitted it to anyone, Draksan had punched Hardi the mont they t.
“W-Why are you—ghk!”
“Your father killed my wife. My—my wife……!”
In the Rock Hunter Tribe, when soone murdered a mber of their kin, even the murderer’s family was killed.
Draksan had assud that was permissible.
He had nowhere to vent his fury.
Hardi resembled Hadler. So he took his anger out on him.
“I will prove it. I will prove that I did not inherit a murderer’s blood. That I can live differently from Hadler!”
Even with broken teeth and blood pouring from his mouth, Hardi had said those words.
At first, Draksan found his belief laughable.
The son of a murderer, speaking boldly.
But as he watched him, it did not seem so laughable.
Hardi lived more uprightly, more kindly than most.
He truly seed determined to prove he could live differently from Hadler.
“Get out! Get out of here! You murderer’s brat, are you trying to ruin my business!”
“Bring back my son! Bring him back, you bastard!”
“I am sorry, I am so sorry…….”
Even when he lost jobs because of his father’s cris.
Even when victims struck him without warning, as Draksan once had.
Hardi endured.
He donated money earned from cleaning jobs.
He volunteered at orphanages.
He apologized regularly to victims—even when pelted with eggs and tomatoes.
Even though the cris were not his.
“Is it not exhausting? Because of your father…… no, I am sorry. Because of Hadler, you cannot even find work. And it was not your cri, yet you are the one beaten and apologizing.”
“It is strange hearing that from you, Brother Draksan. You tried to beat to death when we first t.”
“That was because I did not know you well, damn it…….”
“I am joking. It is hard, but I must prove it.”
“That belief of yours? That you can live differently from Hadler?”
“Yes. Precisely.”
The day they had grown closer and shared drinks, Draksan had asked.
Hardi had answered:
“It does not matter how you were born.”
Nor did it matter how you had lived until now.
There was only one thing that mattered.
“How you will live from now on.”
Draksan imagined killing Justin and becoming War Chief.
It would be easy. Even enjoyable.
He could wield overwhelming power as he pleased.
But it would not last.
The consequences of killing Justin would co.
A force opposing violent, brutal barbarians would arise.
They would have to fight that force.
Even if they won, another similar force would erge.
If they lost, they would be oppressed.
To escape oppression, they would fight again.
They would kill and be killed.
Forever.
Soone had to break the cycle.
Draksan raised the axe.
Slice!
He cut— Not Justin’s neck— But the rope binding him.
“Draksan, Draksan Caligus! Do you reject the command of Sabina!”
“The one I must fight is not Justin.”
Draksan looked calmly at Dernto, whose eyes were bloodshot as he berated him.
“You are no warrior! To defy Sabina’s command! You shall fall into the land of cold and starvation, the frozen hell where kin fight and devour one another!”
Dernto scread.
“I am still a warrior.”
“You are not! D-Draksan! Kill Justin now! If you do not kill him, you are no warrior—only a coward making excuses!”
“You do not decide whether I am a warrior…….”
Draksan swept his gaze across the barbarians surrounding him.
“I decide. A warrior chooses his own enemy. If you fight as others command, you are not a warrior—you are a rcenary.”
The one he must fight was not a mage oppressing barbarians.
Not the Kingdom.
Not the Public Security Bureau.
Not even the barbarians themselves.
“I have chosen my enemy.”
The world.
A world that forces people to fight and kill one another.
An unjust fate.
A damned disease that robs one of reason and drowns one in rage.
“I am a warrior.”
Draksan looked at Dernto.
Clarity had returned to his eyes.
He had conquered his anger.
“S-Sophistry—!”
Dernto could not finish.
Whirl—slice!
“Gaaah!”
A gust of wind severed Dernto’s leg.
The cut at the knee was clean.
Erisa’s work.
Now that Draksan had regained his reason, there was no need to hesitate.
“Drop your weapons and surrender. If you do not resist, we will take it into consideration at trial!”
“Further resistance will result in imdiate execution!”
The investigators stepped forward.
“D-Do not surrender! Fight! Fight, damn it!! Aaaagh!”
Dernto scread despite his severed leg.
But the barbarians did not fight.
Many dropped their weapons and surrendered.
They were not surrendering because of the investigators’ words.
They were surrendering because of Draksan.
They had followed Dernto’s commands.
‘That is not a warrior. That is a rcenary.’
Draksan’s words had shaken them.
“D-Dernto! It is your fault, you—!”
“Sabina, guide to the Warrior’s Stone Mountain!”
“Fight! Fight!!”
The few barbarians who resisted were quickly subdued.
Most had surrendered.
The suppression was swift.
Dernto’s shrill screams echoed.
“…….”
Amid the chaos, Draksan looked silently at Justin.
The anger was gone.
Strangely, his heart felt at peace.
***
“I will go to the Warrior’s Stone Mountain. I fought and risked my life for my kin. We did nothing wrong. You oppressed us first. I was there during the Mine Revolution. My daughter died. I know your sins. You will fall into frozen hell and devour one another. You will.”
Dernto muttered those words the entire ti he was being dragged away.
They sounded like a curse.
Yet they did not feel chilling or unpleasant.
They evoked a strange pity.
From Dernto’s body emanated the stench of profound sorrow and rage.
So old it had beco like body odor.
Like the chronic scent of alcohol from an addict.
“Huff, huff……!”
As the barbarians were arrested, Chief Justin struggled to steady his breathing.
Perhaps he had truly believed he would die.
His breaths were ragged.
His eyes trembled.
He looked confused.
“Are you all right?”
He did not answer .
Instead, he stared at Draksan.
“Why did you not kill ? Why……? You had every reason.”
He looked unable to comprehend why he was alive.
Draksan approached .
His expression was gentler and calr than ever before.
The anxious look typical of a patient suffering from Intermittent Explosive Disorder was nowhere to be seen.
‘Could it be…….’
I asked carefully.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good.”
“I ant—”
“I know. You are asking about the symptoms of Intermittent Explosive Disorder.”
Draksan smiled.
“I feel good. The anger that always boiled inside feels as though it has completely vanished.”
“Ah…….”
“How should I put it…… It feels as though I have overco it to so degree. It is not fully cured yet.”
Intermittent Explosive Disorder is difficult to cure.
Even when one believes it is cured, it may return unexpectedly.
As had once happened to .
I did not believe Draksan had been miraculously cured overnight.
But as he said, he seed to have overco it to so extent.
He looked at Justin.
“If not for you, I might have committed sothing irreversible. It is all thanks to you.”
“I rely helped a little. You overca it yourself.”
My words alone could not have changed his heart.
Nor cured his illness.
‘Perhaps one could say my long treatnt contributed. But.’
Intermittent Explosive Disorder does not easily disappear, no matter how diligently treated.
Ultimately, Draksan had conquered it himself.
“I suppose this will be our final farewell. I will be returning to prison.”
“Final? I will visit you. Even if only through visitation.”
“There is no need. You must have many others to see.”
He glanced behind him.
Two investigators stood waiting.
Although he had saved Justin, he was still an escaped convict.
They needed to take him back into custody.
Yet perhaps because they had witnessed him spare Justin, the investigators stood back.
They even lowered their heads, as if to avoid burdening him.
“It is a relief to return with my illness sowhat improved. It is all thanks to you. Truly…….”
Drip. Drip.
My eyes widened.
Tears were flowing down Draksan’s cheeks.
“Thank you. Truly, thank…….”
He repeated his gratitude, calmly shedding tears.
It was the first ti I had seen him cry for any reason other than anger.
Perhaps that was why he made no effort to wipe them away.
Soon, he boarded a Magitech vehicle with the investigators.
They did not treat him harshly.
It looked more like accompanint than arrest.
***
Doctor Kain, how have you been?
I am writing this letter from the detention center before my appeal.
I am not skilled with words, so this letter may be long-winded. I ask for your understanding.
I am grateful the appeal was not dismissed. My sentence may be reduced slightly.
Even if it is only by two or three years, I will do my best.
How is Lena? You said you would oversee her treatnt. I hope it is going well.
I do not want her to suffer as I have. I entrust her to you.
The investigator told visitation will be permitted after three months of imprisonnt.
Provided I behave and serve as a model prisoner.
I will try to control my temper.
When the visitation date is set, I will contact you.
At that ti, Doctor…
“……Please bring Lena to see .”
“Do not read it! I told you several tis not to read it! Why do you keep—!”
Draksan shouted, his face reddening.
He even tried to snatch the letter from my hand.
“It moves , so I keep reading it.”
“That is absurd!”
“Are you angry?”
At my teasing, Draksan inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
“……No.”
His attempt to forcibly regain composure amused .
Ordinarily, such teasing during treatnt would be inappropriate.
But lately, Draksan’s condition has been excellent.
‘And I know he would not truly lose his temper over sothing like this.’
To state the conclusion first—Draksan beca a free man.
‘Well, not entirely free.’
More precisely, his sentence was suspended on appeal.
Considering he had received fifteen years in the first trial, the reduction was beyond drastic—it was shocking.
It began with a petition.
“Please do not send Uncle Draksan Caligus, the hero who saved Sauhin, to prison.”
The petitioner was a boy nad Ian.
One of the children present at the ranch the day the Bear Monster appeared in Sauhin.
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