Chapter 23 : One Piece (13)

Uta, an orphaned infant, had drifted ashore from the sea. The villagers, wary of outsiders due to their superstitious belief that the Sea God would be angered, were reluctant to take her in. She was left in the outskirts of the village, a neglected outcast, cared for only sporadically by the village chief’s son—the same old man now begging for his life—just enough to keep her alive. Not out of kindness, but because he saw her as a potential sacrifice.

The villagers practiced a ritualistic sacrifice of children under ten to appease the Sea God and ensure bountiful fishing harvests. Unwilling to sacrifice their own children, these selfish villagers decided to offer Uta. They fed her, clothed her, and indoctrinated her, telling her that becoming a sacrifice was an honor, a mercy for a useless freeloader like her. They conditioned her to accept her fate without question, resistance, or sorrow, to embrace death by the Sea God’s hands as a joyous occasion.

On the day of the ritual, they danced and sang around Uta, praying for the Sea God to accept their offering and bless them with abundant catches. Then, the pirates attacked, disrupting the ceremony. After we defeated the pirates, the villagers plotted to sacrifice us alongside Uta, poisoning us and offering us to their Sea God.

“How… audacious.” I was stunned by their audacity. They were going to betray the very people who saved them.

“Typical of trash like you.” I glared at the villagers groveling at my feet.

“H-have mercy…”

“P-please… stop…”

“Just kill me…” They begged for mercy, for the torture to end, for death itself.

I smiled coldly. “This is nothing. You haven’t even begun to suffer.” This was a rare opportunity to test my powers without restraint or remorse. I wouldn’t end it quickly.

I used healing magic to mend their injuries, mental stabilization spells to repair their fractured minds, and various other support magics to prolong their suffering, to make them regret the day they were born, all while conducting valuable experiments.

“You reap what you sow.” The pain they were experiencing was nothing compared to what they had inflicted upon Uta, and what they had planned for us.

“Let’s continue.” I cleaned the blood off the Holy Spear with magic and stored it, drawing the Holy Sword. I had so much more I wanted to try. I had all the time in the world.

While I continued my… experiments within the barrier…

“Wow! Can I touch your horns?”

“Sure! Go ahead!”

Uta, having awakened from her magically induced slumber, was happily playing with my crew. She touched Yamato’s horns, fascinated by the unique feature.

“Whoa! I’m flying!”

“Hold on tight! I’m going faster!” She giggled as Law used her Room to let her fly around.

“You’re so boring, Lami-nee. Nothing special about you.”

“Hey!” She even teased Lami for her comparatively ordinary appearance and abilities.

Uta was having the time of her life. It was the happiest day of her short existence. And that made her sad. She believed she was a sacrifice, destined to be offered to the Sea God. This happiness was fleeting, a brief respite before her inevitable demise.

Clinging to this belief, she played with even more fervor, more enthusiasm, determined to make the most of this precious moment before she was taken away.

Three hours passed.

“Uww…” Uta suddenly burst into tears. She had been told that being a sacrifice was an honor, a privilege for a useless freeloader like her. But those words held no meaning. Even at her young age, she understood, instinctively, that being sacrificed wasn’t joyous or glorious. It was terrifying. It was painful. It meant death.

“N-no… I don’t want to…” She sobbed uncontrollably, the thought of being taken away from this newfound happiness, of being subjected to pain and death, overwhelming her.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Yamato froze, completely bewildered by Uta’s sudden outburst. She had never seen anyone cry so intensely, so desperately, and she had no idea how to react.

“It’s okay. Don’t cry.” Law, though equally surprised, acted instinctively. As an older sister, she knew how to comfort a crying child. She gently pulled Uta into a comforting embrace.

Lami watched them, her small fists clenched tightly. She understood, on some level, why Uta was crying.

‘Shine-san said she was a sacrifice.’ A sacrifice. It was no wonder Uta was so distraught. She was small and frail, likely from malnutrition, and she didn’t even know her own name—or even the concept of names—a sign of severe neglect. Lami empathized with Uta’s suffering, her anger towards the villagers simmering beneath the surface.

‘Why are there so many horrible people in this world?’ Traveling with Shine had opened her eyes to the harsh realities of the world. There were far more people driven by greed and selfishness than kind-hearted individuals like Shine, Yamato, and Law.

“Shine-san…” she whispered, seeking comfort from the person she trusted most. She didn’t expect a reply. He was inside the barrier, her voice unable to reach him. It was simply a reflex, a desperate plea for solace in a world that suddenly seemed overwhelmingly cruel.

“What is it?”

A voice responded.

“Shine-san?!” Lami’s head whipped around, her eyes widening in surprise. Behind her stood Shine, his voice, always so kind and reassuring to her, filled with a gentle concern. He was sheathing his sword.

Behind him—

Whoosh!

—flames erupted where the barrier had been, the air thick with the smell of burning flesh.

“Is it… over?” Lami asked, her voice barely a whisper, the scent confirming her suspicions.

“Yes. They’ve all paid for their sins.”

“Shine!”

“Shine-san?” Yamato and Law, noticing Shine’s return, called out to him. They, too, understood the implications of the burning smell.

“Alright, everyone. We’re done here. Let’s get ready to leave.” I smiled reassuringly and walked towards Law, gently taking Uta, who was still crying softly in her arms. I walked to the shore and retrieved the Maxim from my Inventory.

“Okay.”

“Right away.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” My crew boarded the Maxim, preparing for departure.

As I stepped onto the deck, I turned to Uta, my voice gentle, a warm smile gracing my lips, my aura radiating comfort. “Why are you crying?”

“B-because… I’m a sacrifice…” she sobbed, her small body trembling. “I… I have to die… I have to be offered to the Sea God…” The tears continued to flow, unchecked.

I was appalled by the thoroughness of their indoctrination. I clicked my tongue in annoyance, keeping the sound low enough for Uta not to hear.

“Who decided that?”

“The… the villagers…”

“The villagers, huh?” I turned Uta around so she could see the village—a smoldering ruin, devoid of life, the altar reduced to ashes.

“Look. The village is gone.”

“…Gone?” Uta’s eyes widened as she took in the devastation. The village, the place that demanded her sacrifice, was gone. Reduced to nothing.

“So, I…”

“You don’t have to be a sacrifice anymore.” I said gently, then cast a spell. Dozens of Radiance orbs, basic low-grade magic, but each one packed with mana and amplified by Tenshinki, enough to obliterate what remained of the village, appeared around me.

“You’re not a sacrifice anymore,” I repeated, launching the orbs.

KABOOM!

The amplified Radiance orbs detonated, wiping out the village, leaving no trace of its existence.

“You… are Uta.” I looked at her, my voice soft and reassuring.

“U-Uta…?” She stared at the obliterated village, her mind struggling to comprehend what she had just witnessed.

“Yes, Uta. Your name. A name just for you.”

“Uta… name…” Uta had always longed for a name. She had seen the villagers call each other by their names, and she wanted one too. But they only called her “outsider,” “freeloader,” or “orphan.” Hurtful labels that stung her heart. She had almost given up on ever having a name, believing she would die as a nameless sacrifice.

But now… she had a name. Uta. And the village that wanted to sacrifice her was gone.

“I… I don’t have to die?” she asked hesitantly, a flicker of hope in her violet eyes.

“Of course not. You’re just a kid.”

Uta finally understood. She wasn’t a sacrifice anymore. She was Uta. She didn’t have to suffer. She didn’t have to be sad. She didn’t have to die.

“Waaaaah!” She burst into tears again, but these were tears of joy, of relief, of overwhelming happiness. Tears for the name she finally had, for the freedom she had been given.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “It’s okay to cry.”

Uta snuggled closer, burying her face in my chest, feeling the warmth of my aura, a comforting, radiant light in the darkness that had enveloped her for so long. She cried freely, releasing all the pent-up fear and sorrow she had carried for so long.