Kunkan's Gift
"Go on,"
Ulrich said as he stood up.
"What happened after you performed the sacrament?"
He turned his back to Tapio inside the house and scanned the surroundings. Nearly twenty people stood pressed tightly against the walls, listening to their conversation. Every single one of them had tension in their eyes.
"First, we checked the mana dwelling within the children's bodies. It was no different from cases of properly performed infant baptism. Their names had been entered into the register."
Tapio was about to add that not all of the children were like that, but he faltered. A memory surfaced—the moment he had administered the sacrament. He recalled the life that had crumbled away in his arms.
"…Though it wasn't even half, I believed a miracle had occurred. That our desperation had reached the heavens."
A miracle? It was absurd. The seat of the heavens was empty—who could possibly grant a miracle? Yet at the time, Tapio did not doubt it. It was as if a light had descended into utter darkness where not even an inch ahead could be seen.
The civil war showed no end, and famine had struck. A plague spread as well. Things were so desperate that they had to hunt down routed soldiers. And then, life took root in the village.
They had no choice but to believe. If it wasn't a miracle, then what was it?
"It took me… far too long to admit that it was an illusion."
Tapio let out a hollow laugh, mocking himself.
"When was it that the effects of the sacrament appeared?"
"When the children turned seven or eight."
The power of the evil god revealed itself after a long wait.
Skin peeled away and scales grew. Snouts protruded like a fox's. Legs twisted and became those of a goat. Most of the children who had received the sacrament underwent such changes.
"The initial changes were minor, but the target was far too clear. If it had been the influence of the swamp, then the adults should have changed as well. But only the children who received the sacrament changed."
Tapio stated with certainty:
"The sacrament had summoned an evil god."
"I had performed a false sacrament."
Even if he had only been an apprentice, he had once walked the path of clergy. The infant baptism of the public church did not cause physical transformation. Change was the mark of an evil god—its defining trait was the rejection of order.
"I entered their names into the register to save them… but the register belonged to an evil god. I didn't save them… I sent them to hell."
"Do you believe in the afterlife?"
Ulrich turned and faced Tapio.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
The public church claimed that humans and other races possessed souls. When the body died, the soul went to the owner of the register. There, one's deeds were judged, and one was sent to either heaven or hell.
However, there was an exception: if one's name was in the register of an evil god, they would go to hell regardless of their deeds. According to the church's doctrine, the moment Tapio performed the false sacrament, the children's damnation was sealed.
"I see. You have no choice but to believe. Even if there are no gods left in our world, even if they never return, if an afterlife exists, then people believe the bond between creator and creation still continues."
Tapio suddenly felt that there was denial in his tone.
"Then why have you not cleansed the sin you committed?"
"What… do you mean?"
Ulrich extended his right hand and pointed to the group behind him. Even without words, the meaning was obvious. Everyone listening understood.
"Don't you wish to go to heaven? When your life ends, and you stand before the tribunal of deeds you believe in—what will you say when asked about these children?"
Before Tapio could answer, Ulrich continued:
"Tapio, you once walked the path of the clergy. There's no way you don't know. You know what sin you committed, and what must be done to cleanse it. So why have you kept postponing it all this time?"
His tone had changed. The young man named Armin addressed Tapio in a far more condescending manner. Yet Tapio did not notice. It felt natural to be addressed that way.
"They are not monsters to me."
Tapio met Ulrich's gaze directly and declared:
"I have watched those children from the moment they first cried. Though they have now almost lost their human form, I stood beside them as they slowly became what they are today, from when they were entirely human."
He looked at the group pressed against the wall. Aside from just two, none of them could be called human anymore. Anyone, no matter how compassionate, would call them monsters.
But Tapio regarded each and every one of them as human. To him, they were children. As he had said, he had watched them his entire life.
And also… because the change had been slow.
In fairy tales, transformation happened in an instant. But the change brought by the sacrament was a lifelong process. Little by little, it unfolded—like a child growing into an adult.
If they had changed in a single moment, Tapio and the parents might have felt differently. In an instant, their children would have become another species. The sense of alienation would have been overwhelming.
But it took five years for scales to grow one by one as skin peeled away. Five years for two legs to fuse and become a serpent. The transformation was too slow, too prolonged.
That was why, even after the children became monsters, Tapio and their parents could not see them as such.
"How could I possibly harm those children? I committed the sin—what sin have they committed? If I kill innocent children to cleanse my sin, wouldn't that only be committing another sin?"
Without realizing it, his voice rose with emotion.
After speaking, Tapio glanced at Ulrich, worried that he might have offended him.
"You're right. Children are innocent by nature."
Ulrich's expression was calm. No—he even seemed to be smiling faintly.
"But what about now? There are rumors that monsters are hunting people. Wasn't it one of the children you gave the sacrament to?"
"That child… couldn't endure the transformation."
"Indeed. The body and the mind go together. If you have become something other than human, then your nature, too, has become something other than human."
"The children here are fine. Though they look like this, their nature is not much different from when they were human. Even when they feel impulses, they know how to restrain them."
Ulrich shook his head.
"That is only… up to now."
Tapio fell silent, already knowing what would follow.
"Once your names are written in Kunkan's register, the change does not stop. If any of you carry wildness within, it will continue to grow. And if someone's intellect has diminished, they will eventually forget even their own name."
"That's…"
"The instincts of a non-human being will try to tear down the reason you built as a human. It will continue until death arrives. Tapio, can you handle such a group?"
Had he not already failed to handle them—that was why a monster of the swamp had been born, Ulrich pointed out. Tapio could not refute it. It was exactly as he said.
No matter how much they suppressed instinct with reason, one by one, children eventually succumbed. And once reason yielded even once, it never returned.
A child who had truly become a monster no longer recognized even their own family. They only distinguished whether something was prey or not. Tapio had personally ended the lives of such children—but there were times he failed. That child had become the monster of the swamp.
"Even so… who else could possibly bear this burden?"
In the silence filled only with breathing, Ulrich watched as Tapio bit his dry lips and averted his gaze. It seemed he had nothing more to say, so Ulrich also closed his mouth and looked elsewhere.
"..."
Something entered his field of view. Wooden carvings were scattered throughout the house. When Ulrich had entered, the group had been startled, stepping back and knocking them over.
The carvings ranged from palm-sized to life-sized. The craftsmanship was clumsy—each one crudely made. Though they resembled human figures, the proportions were off, and none were finely detailed.
Ulrich guessed that the children who had received the false sacrament had carved them. With each child having different numbers and shapes of fingers, it was only natural they would be crude.
It was obvious what they had tried to carve. The heavenly gods—the owners of the register they had tried, but failed, to reach. This was their way of reaching out to them.
He bent down and picked one up.
It was a man with a gentle smile, holding a torch in his right hand. Hestio.
"Tapio, I suppose you have nothing more to say to me."
"What more could I possibly say?"
His voice was heavy with fatigue. Not resignation—just exhaustion. His mind was wearing down day by day. He was struggling against Kunkan's blessing.
No… "struggling" wasn't quite right. "Enduring" was more accurate. He himself had not received the blessing—he was merely human. A frail human, for whom the blessing of a being called a god was no different from a curse.
All he could do was delay, as much as possible, the moment when children born human became monsters. He had no means to remove the blessing or overcome it.
"However, you said it at the beginning. That punishing monsters was not something you considered natural. If you still think that way… please, show mercy."
He bowed his head deeply.
Ulrich continued to look at the carving in his hand.
"And then?"
"..."
"After I leave, will you just hide again?"
"I will simply continue as I have until now."
"And the child in the swamp?"
Tapio lifted his head and met Ulrich's gaze.
"I will take responsibility myself."
"I see," Ulrich murmured, placing the carving on the table. Then he slowly looked around.
His gaze swept over each of the people who had received the false sacrament, and also the four eyes peering through the window. For a moment, he met the gaze of the woman among them.
"Tapio, why do you pity these children so much? Is it for the afterlife? To avoid judgment of your deeds at the tribunal that decides heaven and hell?"
Caught off guard, Tapio hesitated.
"I cannot say that's not part of it. But… that's not the only reason. Even if what I'm doing now has no effect on judgment, I would still continue."
"Why?"
"Because I believe I must."
Ulrich met Tapio's eyes again.
"I cannot explain it clearly, but… if you commit a wrongdoing, shouldn't you naturally take responsibility? Even if it has no effect on heaven or hell."
"..."
"Of course, according to scripture, all actions are judged, so such a premise is meaningless. And my actions will not save these children either. It's futile."
Their names had been written in Kunkan's register—there was no way to save them. Tapio said that all he could do was lessen their suffering in the afterlife.
"No. It is not futile."
Ulrich shook his head.
"It is certainly your fault that these children have become what they are. But humans all make mistakes. It cannot be helped—humans are not perfect. What matters is what you do after making a mistake. To regret, to correct it, and to rise again—that is what I believe makes someone human."
"..."
"I prefer people like you over the doctrine of the public church, which revolves around rewards and punishments like heaven and hell. That is why I do not wish for you or these children to suffer any longer."
Placing his right hand on Tapio's shoulder, Ulrich spoke in a whisper:
"This is a gift I give to you and the children. I cannot erase everything that has happened… but I can grant you one thing you desire most."
At the words that followed, Tapio's eyes widened.
"From this moment on, your names have been erased from Kunkan's register."
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