Chapter 22: The Maiden’s Sacrifice

At the heart of the continent, nestled within a secluded and underdeveloped mountain range, lay a village where, on this particular morning, its inhabitants stirred long before the sun.

The sky remained cloaked in darkness, and even the village’s resident rooster, typically the first to herald the dawn, continued to roost comfortably within its haystack.

Should such early rising become a universal habit, the future of all roosters would undoubtedly grow dim.

Thankfully, not all of humanity possessed such a knack for early rising; even these villagers only displayed such unusual diligence on this singular occasion.

Without distinction of age or gender, the villagers’ conversations revolved around a solitary, pressing question:

“Which young maiden should be offered?”

The genesis of their dilemma lay with the formidable horde of demons that had taken root just beyond the village’s borders.

These peculiar creatures, diverse in their grotesque forms, roamed like migratory antelopes, their colossal numbers, easily reaching into the thousands, constantly shifting along the fringes of human habitation.

That humans and demons were sworn enemies was a truth universally acknowledged.

Yet, conversely, those among humanity who lacked strength harbored a profound dread of these demonic entities.

Were it merely a stray demon or two circling the village’s perimeter, the matter would be simple enough; the villagers could readily devise a plan to dispatch them.

However, the moment the demonic numbers swelled, the most frequent lament echoing through the village would invariably be:

“How are we to live? Our days are doomed!”

And so, all minds turned to the desperate task of self-preservation.

When faced with such a dire need for guidance, the villagers habitually looked to a single person to render a decision.

Thus, all eyes fell upon the village chief. The women’s gazes, in particular, mirrored the fervent longing of maidens beholding a secret, long-cherished love.

The men’s stares, conversely, were akin to those fixed upon their own most prized possessions.

Confronted by such a deluge of fervent stares, the aging village chief found himself somewhat unnerved.

He brandished a walking stick that appeared even older than himself, declaring in a voice laced with a distinct tremor:

“Stop staring at me! This old man has been plagued by headaches lately; my head throbs the moment I contemplate anything troublesome!”

Immediately thereafter, before the countless eyes of his fellow villagers, the chief dramatically pressed a hand to his heart.

It appeared, for this venerable elder, that his brain and heart shared a rather direct, if peculiar, connection.

A collective understanding settled among them: the old man was utterly useless. A clamor of chattering voices filled the air, persisting until a single hand rose amidst the crowd.

“May I offer a few words?”

The individual who had so boldly interjected was the village’s sole diviner, a man whose fortunes, it must be said, were less than stellar.

Throughout the twelve months of the year, he typically managed to find work only once every three. During his stretches of unemployment, he subsisted by competing with the village’s large yellow dog for meager scraps, barely eking out a living.

But the present circumstances differed greatly from the past. In this moment of widespread despair, even a tattered foxtail weed would be clutched and cherished as a lifeline.

The diviner swiftly found himself subjected to the same intense scrutiny the village chief had just faced. Bathed in the fervent gazes of his neighbors, his habitually lowered head now lifted with an unfamiliar pride.

With no one else offering a viable solution, the diviner resolved to step forward, intending to devise some haphazard scheme to appease the demons beyond their borders.

Should his plan ultimately fail, he could easily absolve himself of responsibility, adopting the detached demeanor of an enlightened sage.

This cunning fellow, adept at charlatanry and conjuring spirits, promptly instructed the villagers to disperse, whereupon he began to perform a flamboyant ‘great god dance’ for all to witness.

After an extended session of ‘yi-ya-er-yo,’ this failed charlatan — a man who couldn’t even reliably predict whether a villager’s home harbored mice — gravely pronounced a conclusion:

“I have felt it! The will of the heavens has revealed to me that for this village to weather this calamity, a significant price must be paid!”

Perhaps his stomach had rumbled a few too many times, for this time, the diviner’s ingenuity was remarkably swift.

The price the diviner spoke of was none other than the “offering of a maiden,” a proposition already circulating among the villagers.

Superficially, there appeared to be no direct link between this sacrifice and the demons beyond their gates, yet the diviner proclaimed:

“My fellow villagers, reflect on the true nature of demons! They are naught but monsters who feast upon human flesh! Their congregation outside our village is undoubtedly for the sole purpose of devouring fresh human meat!”

Stripped to its core, this suggestion advocated for the offering of a living sacrifice.

In accordance with the continent’s ancient customs, most concurred that offering a maiden was far more fitting than sacrificing a young man.

After all, irrespective of the demon leader’s gender, a maiden offered as tribute would likely be accepted.

However, offering a young man presented an entirely different prospect.

Should the demon overlord happen to be a demoness with a penchant for young boys, then such a ‘gift’ might at least prove satisfactory.

But if the demon overlord were male, and the village were to send another male…

Would that not transform an act of appeasement into a blatant provocation?

Weighing all these intricate factors, the villagers ultimately endorsed the diviner’s proposition.

Now, the original conundrum resurfaced:

“Who, precisely, should we sacrifice?”

The villagers now faced the uncomfortable task of convincing a family to surrender their young daughter.

Those without daughters maintained a serene disposition, reasoning that they stood to lose nothing.

Families blessed with daughters, however, felt a profound sense of grievance.

‘Is it truly so easy to raise a daughter to maturity?’

This lament echoed the universal sentiment among those who had nurtured a daughter.

The situation had devolved into an intractable stalemate.

Households unable to contribute found themselves excluded from the discussion, while those who could sacrifice for the village were, by and large, reluctant to speak.

On the whole, this village was considered a place of reason and propriety.

Under the clear, unblinking eye of day, the idea of villagers banding together to forcibly abduct a young woman from a neighbor’s home…

Such an unpleasant spectacle was simply unthinkable.

Given that the personal safety of young maidens with familial support and parental backing was thoroughly assured, it was now the fate of individual, unsupported girls to face misfortune.

Then, a spark of inspiration ignited in someone’s mind amidst the throng, yielding a proposal so seemingly flawless that it defied immediate criticism:

“We could send out the nun!”

The mere utterance of this suggestion was akin to a stone being cast into a tranquil pond, erupting with a resounding ‘thump’ that sent ripples of agreement through the assembly.

As the multitude of villagers clamored in fervent agreement, the sheer volume of spittle that erupted from their mouths was sufficient to thoroughly moisten the surrounding earth.

“Indeed, send the nun.”

“Though her parents were clergy, they perished years ago during a demon-hunting expedition, alongside their son, in the desolate wilderness. She has no one else in her family to depend upon.”

“Having no one to rely on is precisely what makes her ideal. This momentous undertaking, destined to secure peace for our village, shall be decided by us on her behalf!”

The nun, whom the villagers spoke of, resided in a secluded corner of the settlement. The most dilapidated wooden hut in the entire village served as her sole dwelling.

The appellation ‘Nun’ served a dual purpose: it denoted the maiden’s profession within the village and was simultaneously the name by which the villagers had come to know her.

With the maiden’s parents long deceased, the villagers saw no reason to expend precious brain cells on remembering an outsider’s given name.

Thus, over time, everyone simply referred to her by her occupation.

This particular nun held considerable importance for the village.

In recent years, whenever a villager required a wall mended or a well dug…

Any arduous chore or menial task was invariably entrusted to the nun, ensuring she could ‘lend a helping hand’ on every occasion.

Alas, this invaluable handywoman, the nun, was on the precipice of being delivered into the clutches of the malevolent, black-hearted demons, her blossoming life destined to be tragically extinguished.

While lamenting her fate, the villagers couldn’t help but inwardly curse the detestable demons, resenting those callous monsters for depriving them of their most valuable source of free labor.

Yet, despite their pity, life, as ever, had to proceed for all.

With the notable exception of the intended victim, the entire village unanimously endorsed the proposal for sacrifice.

The consensus was clear: the nun was the most suitable sacrificial offering, and the decision was reached with surprising alacrity.

The village chief, acting as their designated representative, gathered his courage and, with a thick face, approached the nun’s door. To fortify the resolve of their less-than-dignified elder, the remaining villagers trailed closely behind him.

Knock, knock, knock!

A few moments after the insistent knocks, the door creaked open.

Her once fair skin bore a faint yellowish hue, a telltale sign of chronic malnutrition.

Deep, shadowed circles beneath her eyes were unmistakably prominent, even to a casual glance.

Despite this, a lively spark still flickered in her gaze, enough for others to perceive her as a spirited young girl.

“Why have you all come?”

Their arrival was, one might say, impeccably ‘timed.’

The nun had only just finished preparing her meager meal, not yet having taken a single bite, when this throng of people encircled her home, forming an impenetrable wall.

“What tasks require my assistance today? A roof to mend, or pets to feed?”

“Nun, the situation is thus…”

The village chief, with a palpable sense of embarrassment, recounted the full story, from its genesis to its current predicament. Upon concluding his narrative, he immediately launched into a performance.

The aged chief put on quite a spectacle for the assembled villagers, bursting into loud sobs before the entire crowd.

Nor were they mere feigned tears; genuine drops indeed welled from his clouded, aged eyes.

“Nun, the very lives of our entire village rest upon your shoulders! For the sake of us, the old, the young, and the women, you simply cannot stand idly by this time!”

One person crying was one thing, but with the chief’s tearful outburst as a prelude, the entire village erupted into a chorus of frantic wails.

The scene unfolding before the nun was truly something else. A girl who had only lived for a little over a decade, she couldn’t help but feel as though she was being ‘enthusiastically’ sent to her own funeral by the entire village.

If she failed to react, the situation would truly spiral out of control, quickly morphing into a eulogy for a deceased body.

“Stop crying, all of you. I’ll go.”

From the nun’s composed tone, it was clear she remained remarkably calm, as if she weren’t being sent to her death, but merely asked to embark on a journey.

Naturally, everyone rejoiced that the sacrificial lamb was willing to willingly enter the tiger’s den. However, a small faction voiced their doubts:

“Nun, did you truly listen to the village chief’s explanation?”

“We are not sending you to enjoy bliss among the demons; we are sending you to sacrifice yourself, to be devoured by those monsters.”

“Why do you show no sorrow, nor even a hint of fear?”

Upon hearing these disingenuous questions, the nun immediately let out a soft laugh.

“And why would I necessarily die?”

“How could anyone sent to a demon lair possibly return alive? Such a laughable notion has never been heard of throughout history.”

“Heh heh, just because something hasn’t happened before, does that mean it won’t happen in the future?”

Everyone unanimously concluded that the nun had gone mad! They believed she had lost her sanity under the immense pressure of impending death, resorting to nonsensical ramblings to escape reality.

Under their unified, suspicious gazes, the nun did not argue further. She simply made one request.

“I’ve just finished making my meal. At least let me eat a little before I depart…”

“Absolutely not!”

“This matter brooks no delay.”

“Who knows what might happen if we procrastinate.”

Their refusal was remarkably decisive.

She should have anticipated such an outcome. The nun’s plea was rejected, and she had no intention of fighting the decision.

She remembered clearly:

Once, when asked for help, her rice bowl had been smashed by impatient people simply because she’d asked to eat first.

There was no need for such an incident to repeat itself.

The nun went inside, retrieved a clean change of clothes, locked her door before leaving, and put away the key.

Having completed these actions, she resolutely walked towards the village exit.

‘If I am truly to die, perhaps it will be a form of happiness for me…’

Her face was devoid of any fear. After all, a maiden who had survived in a hellish environment no longer harbored any dread of death!