"Are the rules really that simple?"
Jenkins asked doubtfully after hearing Mr. Augustus's explanation. He rarely believed in windfalls that seed too good to be true.
"It's not simple at all," Mr. Augustus replied. "Judging the good and evil in human nature is one of the most difficult things in the world, especially when a person's life hangs in the balance."
Mr. Augustus only knew the rules; he had no idea why the master of this realm had invited Jenkins to do this.
"I'll give it a try."
With so little information, Jenkins couldn't deduce the full story behind the situation. He had no reason to suddenly back out and try to leave, nor was there any need to.
So, he observed the three wounded n and decided to start with the one lying on his back, directly facing the statue.
All three of the wounded were n. The first one Jenkins approached appeared to be the oldest. His hair was streaked with gray, and his face was an unnatural red from years of exposure to the elents. It was difficult to pinpoint his injuries, but blood was seeping from his eyes, nose, and ears. He coughed violently, spraying a red froth. From the sound of it, Jenkins could tell that, at the very least, the man's lungs were compromised.
"It's a curse," Jenkins determined inwardly. "Enchanters are involved in this war."
He reached out and pressed his hand to the man's chest, intending to heal him, but it was useless. The man was like a stone, showing no resonance with the spirit of life.
"They can't be considered living people," Mr. Augustus explained from behind him. "They are rely mories, excerpts from history. You could say the rules of this Mysterious Realm forbid healing."
"So you're saying these three n actually existed in history?"
"Yes. As you should know, so Mysterious Realms are re fragnts of the world where outsiders ddle and set the rules. Others are reenactnts of history, with outsiders serving as comntators," Mr. Augustus affird.
"Then in the original history, was there soone like who appeared before them?"
Jenkins asked again, but this ti Mr. Augustus didn't answer. A thought ford in Jenkins's mind. He glanced up at the broken, lopsided statue, then turned back to the man.
"Why did you co here?"
It was a direct question, and the man did his best to answer between agonizing coughs.
"I... I murdered my parents. For that, I was exiled to the army, thrown into a suicide squad, and sent to the battlefield. Everyone else is dead... and now I'm dying too."
"Why did you murder your parents?"
"I lost a fortune gambling... I needed soone to pay my debts, but they refused. I lost control..."
It was a tired, old story, but one that played out in every world, in every era.
"And you?"
Jenkins then turned to the man on his left. This one looked younger, perhaps in his thirties or forties. His injury was an obvious external wound—a deep puncture in his chest, likely from a sword or a similar blade. He lay on a gray overcoat, the blood having soaked it and the ground around him black. It was a miracle he was still alive.
"Why did you co here?"
"I wanted to make a na for myself. I couldn't stand the thought of being a dockworker my whole life."
"And did you make any mistakes?"
"For money... I stole military secrets and sold them to a spy. But it backfired, leading my own unit into a terrible disaster. Everyone else died. A friend who discovered the truth wounded badly... I think I'm dying."
A story of reaping what he sowed. A bit more convoluted, but the logic was sound.
"And you? Why are you here?"
He now addressed the young man on the right. His legs were gone, the stumps crudely wrapped in cloth, but Jenkins could faintly sll the stench of rot.
"I ca here through regular conscription."
The young man must have had a strong constitution; he was the only one of the three whose voice didn't tremble as he spoke.
"Have you done anything wrong?"
"I don't think so."
That was actually the truth, which ant the man genuinely believed he was innocent.
"Then how were you injured?"
"The captain ordered to guard the prisoners, but it was too difficult. There were twenty of them, and only one of . So I killed them all. That way, they couldn't escape. But the last one still managed to get away while I wasn't looking. Later, on the battlefield, he captured . He cut off my legs and left here to die."
Another tragic case, but his wrongdoing seed less clear-cut than the other two. The young man probably believed he was just carrying out his duties, albeit without much kindness. And besides, they were the enemy.
"Disloyal, unfilial, and inhumane," Jenkins thought to himself. "Each of these three has a unique brand of sin."
Having heard all their stories, Jenkins silently mulled it over. Behind him, Mr. Augustus, who had been watching the entire exchange, asked:
"Well? Have you made your judgnt?"
"You were right. This is extrely difficult. I need so ti," Jenkins replied, then paused in thought for a mont before addressing the three n again.
"Do you have any regrets?"
"I do."
That was the answer from the man who had killed his parents and the one who had sold secrets.
"I don't."
This ca from the young man who had killed the prisoners. He leaned against the base of a broken stone pillar, his eyes fixed on Jenkins.
Thanks to his Lie Godhood, no one could lie in his presence. These were all true statents.
"Then tell honestly, if ti were turned back and you faced that mont in your life again, would you still do the sa thing?" he asked.
"No," the old man who had murdered his parents answered.
"Yes," the middle-aged man who had betrayed his comrades for money spoke after a few seconds of hesitation.
"No."
Most surprisingly, the young man also hesitated before giving his answer. "I suppose they all had families of their own. I've felt the fear and helplessness of facing death. If I had another chance, I wouldn't kill them. But I don't regret what I did," he explained.
Jenkins nodded in understanding and asked his final question: "Which of you doesn't want to die?"
"I don't want to die."
The middle-aged man who had betrayed his comrades and the young man who had killed the prisoners replied in unison.
"I want to die. I know I deserve it."
The old man answered, then broke into another violent coughing fit, so severe one might think he was about to cough up his own lungs.
"Alright. It seems this Mysterious Realm won't be so difficult after all," Jenkins muttered to himself, then turned to face Mr. Augustus.
"But before I give my answer, Mr. Augustus, may I ask you a question?"
"I will answer to the best of my ability."
Mr. Augustus nodded kindly.
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