["Your parents were vagabonds who deserved the Goddess's curse. They dumped you in the village when you'd barely been weaned, then disappeared. You ought to be grateful. If we hadn't looked after you, you'd have been wolf food long ago. What kindhearted soul in this world would take in some Altoan brat with no ties to them and raise him?..."]

Whenever the Chief got good and drunk, he always grumbled the same thing. Shan had heard the story so many times he could have recited it with his eyes closed.

And it wasn't just the Chief who said such things. From old Kolo the miller to Mr. Jeksen the woodcutter and Martha the apothecary, everyone scowled whenever they saw him and told him he should be grateful they even let a devil's spawn like him live in their village. Discipline delivered with hands, feet, and sometimes clubs came along with it.

Why did they all hate him so much?

The one who answered Shan's question was Priest Ador, the village's most respected elder, who was said to have studied in the capital in his youth.

"It's because you're an Altoan, child."

"An Altoan?"

"A people who rejected the Goddess's love and wielded evil powers, bringing a terrible curse upon themselves. Those eyes are proof."

Just as he said, Shan's eyes were different from other people's. It wasn't particularly noticeable in the light, but in the dark they glowed faintly, like an animal's.

More than once, someone encountering him as he wandered through the dark of night had panicked, thinking a wild beast had found its way into the village. Each time, Shan had been beaten for frightening them.

As Shan absently felt around his eyes, Priest Ador spoke with a bitter expression.

"Long ago, the people of Alto wielded the power of evil magic and built a stairway to the divine realm. This angered the Goddess, and she meted out punishment. The Alto Empire fell, and a curse descended upon its inhabitants."

The Goddess had changed the Altoans' appearance so everyone would know what they were. Shan only had slightly unusual eyes, but apparently some had great horns sprouting from their heads, or their entire bodies covered in grotesque, hardened growths.

Shan shuddered at how hideous they looked even in his imagination, then cautiously voiced his thoughts.

"Then is it a sin just for me to have been born?"

"It can't be helped. Not everyone can be born the child of royalty or nobility. If some are blessed from birth, others must be cursed from birth."

Priest Ador stroked Shan's head as he spoke.

"Study the Goddess's word without cease, and obey her. Then one day, she will forgive you and admit you into her temple."

"Could that really happen?"

"Of course."

Looking into the priest's deep-set eyes, so full of faith, Shan swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue.

That, rather than going to the Goddess's temple after he died, he wished people would be kinder to him.

That he wanted to be treated like everyone else—or at the very least, not hated when he'd done nothing wrong.

Learning there was a reason for his persecution did little to ease Shan's heart.

A descendant of a sinful people.

The villagers' persecution of someone for whom any suffering was considered a deserved price left him miserable.

"Hey, you Altoan bastard. Who said you could strut down the main road?"

"I'm sorry."

"You stink. Get lost."

Shan bowed low to the boy who kicked him hard in the shin and stepped aside.

He should have died, but their kindness had kept him alive, so whatever the villagers did to him was justified. That included being allowed to own nothing and having to work for the village without pay.

"Hey, Altoan. You finished cleaning the livestock shed?"

"Here, take this laundry down to the stream. Wash it properly so it doesn't smell."

"Where's the firewood I told you to bring?"

Fortunately indeed, Shan was quite a capable worker. Emaciated from lack of food, he was small even compared with other boys his age, thirteen or fourteen. Yet he was surprisingly strong for his size and had a knack for the work, doing as much as a grown man.

In truth, there was a secret behind that, too.

"Heave-ho."

Shan drove his axe into the tree with a thud, then calmly watched the sizable trunk topple toward him. Anyone watching would have rushed over in horror.

But Shan didn't so much as blink as the tree narrowly brushed past him and fell. He had already known it would.

'Chop this up into firewood, and that should more or less do it...'

Shan had a rather remarkable talent: the ability to use his body more correctly and efficiently than other people, producing better results.

To his eyes, everyone else moved like the puppets operated by a puppeteer in a traveling troupe that had once visited the village. Puppets with strings attached to every joint, their movements unbearably sluggish and clumsy.

But when he asked why they moved that way, and whether they couldn't use their bodies more efficiently, the answer was far from pleasant.

That was clearly the Altoans' evil magic, they said, and he mustn't use it freely. Being different was bad. If everyone else was clumsy, Shan had to match them.

Fortunately, the villagers didn't condemn him for his talent so long as he didn't use it too conspicuously. Perhaps because the better he worked, the easier their lives became.

Thanks to that, he could at least enjoy moving as freely as he liked when he came to cut wood alone, as he was doing now.

After swiftly chopping the fallen tree into sections with his axe and loading them onto a cart, Shan went straight back to the village and threw himself into other work.

Willow Village, home to a hundred-odd people, had no end of tasks for him: fetching water, digging small stones out of the fields, cleaning the privies...

Only after the sun had set completely and night had fallen was he finally able to rest. As he curled up in the corner of the barn that served as his shelter, his body screamed from the day's abuse.

'I'm exhausted...'

He might be able to use his body more efficiently, but doing roughly twice as much work as everyone else in a body that wasn't fully grown could only leave him exhausted. And since all he'd eaten was a little scavenged food left over from meals at the Chief's house, he was so hungry that his stomach ached as though it were being squeezed.

'At least I ate better than this when Selina was here.'

Selina was the Chief's daughter, who had recently married a landowner in the neighboring village. She enjoyed picking up stories from peddlers and strangers, then showing off her knowledge to everyone else.

Shan had been the most attentive audience for her displays of learning.

["Did you know, Shan?"]

["Know what?"]

["They say that in the heathen lands to the south, there's an animal called an elephant, as big as a mountain."]

["Wouldn't that make it a monster?"]

Selina had snorted at his question.

["Idiot. I said it's an animal, not a monster! Anyway, if you raise an elephant tied to an iron stake from when it's little, they say it can't pull the stake out even when it's fully grown. It tried long ago and couldn't, so it thinks it still can't."]

["That's really stupid."]

["Do you really think so?"]

Even when he asked what she meant, Selina merely looked at him with an unreadable expression, as though she found him pathetic—or perhaps pitied him.

Then she shook her head, said it didn't matter if he didn't understand, and left. After she married and moved to the neighboring village, he never had occasion to see her again.

'What on earth did she mean?'

Even thinking it over again brought him no closer to an answer. Shan lay lost in thought until he drifted off to sleep.

How long had he wandered in that deep, dreamless sleep?

A tremendous crash jolted him awake.

'What's that?'

As he came to his senses, Shan realized there was some sort of commotion outside. Had he been so tired that he'd slept like a log until morning?

No. If that were true, sunlight would be filtering through the roof. Besides, the uproar outside was nothing like the usual village sounds.

There were crashes as though someone were kicking in doors, shouts and roars, piercing screams, and shrill noises unlike anything he'd heard before.

As if in a trance, Shan opened the barn door and stepped outside.

"Hey, grab that one! He's getting away!"

"Why chase him like that? Just let them shoot him dead."

"Please spare me!"

"Why are you doing this? We'll give you everything, money, possessions, anything! Please!"

What had become of the village that had been so peaceful mere hours ago?

Beneath burning houses and a handful of flickering torches lay dozens of corpses, all with familiar faces.

The killers surrounding the village and butchering its inhabitants were far too well equipped to be a band of thieves. Every one of them wore leather armor over thick cloth and carried properly made blades, not mere clubs carved from wood.

Working steadily together like well-trained soldiers, the bandits slaughtered people who outnumbered them several times over in a one-sided massacre.

Some tried to break through the encirclement by climbing over walls or rooftops, but arrows from archers waiting outside pierced them and brought them down.

"Aaaargh—!"

A deep, throaty scream.

Barak, the blacksmith Shan had delivered firewood to that very afternoon, had been swinging a great hammer when his arm was severed. Now he howled in agony.

He stood a full two heads taller than Shan, with such a massive frame that he'd seemed like a giant from myth. The sight of him wailing like a child felt unreal.

Beside him lay Mr. Jeksen the woodcutter, a spear through his chest. The axe he must have been carrying was embedded in the head of his wife, Mrs. Mary.

These were men renowned for their strength in the village, brave men who had easily dealt with vagabonds or a few small monsters.

Then Shan saw Ador, the village's only priest, rush out from farther inside the village. He was a heavy sleeper, and the church stood in the village's innermost reaches, so apparently he hadn't realized what was happening right away.

Or perhaps he'd simply been too terrified to come out, then decided he couldn't let this continue.

As befitted a man of the cloth, divine light surged up around him, illuminating his surroundings and making the bandits flinch.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Isn't that a priest?"

"What do we do? Even so, killing a priest is a bit..."

Did even men who had committed such atrocities retain a shred of faith? Or were they afraid of the divine power the priest displayed?

Unlike before, the bandits hesitated, unable to attack at once.

"This will bring the Goddess's wrath upon you. Lay down your weapons at once and—"

"Bullshit."

But his brave stand came to nothing. A spear suddenly shot out from among the bandits, piercing the priest's eye and pulping his brain.

The middle-aged man who had thrown it spat and ran a hand over the patch covering one eye.

"You stupid bastards. I told you! Not a single one gets out alive! Repeat after me! Loyalty comes before faith!"

"Loyalty comes before faith!"

"Good. Kill them all!"

The surrounding bandits' immediate obedience left no doubt that he was their leader.

The slaughter resumed.

Apparently finished hunting down everyone living on the outskirts, they now searched the houses, killing the elderly and infirm who had hidden inside.

Fortunately, the Chief's barn where Shan lived was not far from the church, close to the center of the village. He was safe for now, but it wouldn't be long before he became a target too.

But if he ran, where could he possibly go, and how?

He was fairly confident in his running, but not in his ability to see an arrow coming and dodge it. He'd never tried it before.

As he stood dazed, watching the bodies of old people and children being dragged out of the houses one by one, Shan realized someone was crawling toward him.

"Sh-Shan."

It was the boy who had kicked him not long before for blocking the road. A broken dagger protruded from his belly, and blood streamed from his mouth as he spoke, perhaps from damaged organs.

"My... family. Save them..."

Shan tried to ask how he could possibly do that, but perhaps he was trembling too hard; no words came out.

The boy clutched his ankle, mumbling pleas, then slumped forward as though his strength had finally given out.

As Shan drew breath, half lost in panic, a coarse voice sounded nearby.

"Hmm? Wondered where you'd run off to. Went looking for your friend, did you? Disloyal little bastard."

The sneering man flinched at the sight of Shan's eyes and took a step back. A moment later, however, his ugly face twisted hideously, as though he resented having been frightened even for an instant.

"What the hell? What's a devil's spawn doing here?"

Apparently even murderous bandits found Altoans horrifying.

Might he spare Shan, thinking him vermin not even worth killing?

Entertaining a fantasy even he knew was foolish, Shan found himself begging.

"... Please spare me."

The bandit clicked his tongue as though Shan wasn't worth answering and swung his blade.

It was a forearm-length, single-edged blade of the sort commonly used to cut small trees in the mountains, stained with blood and fat.

'If that hits me, I'll die...'

Like everyone Shan had ever watched in his life, the bandit's movements as he swung were utterly clumsy.

Should he dodge?

It wouldn't be particularly difficult if he used the evil Altoan magic he'd been born with. No, perhaps he could do even more.

But the priest had told him to heed the Goddess's word. If he succumbed to evil magic, he would go to hell when he died.

With that thought came the image of the priest who had spoken those words dying with a spear through his head. And not just him—all the bodies lying sprawled about, people who had died horribly, slashed, stabbed, and beaten.

If hell existed, wasn't this world already hell?

Amid the sharp terror of death bearing down on him, Shan's body moved naturally.

"Huh?"

The man looked bewildered that his blade had cut empty air instead of the wretched Altoan boy.

He'd definitely slashed right through the boy's neck. Was the thing in front of him some kind of ghost?

Thinking he might have seen wrong in the darkness, he thrust his torch forward. In that instant, the figure before him vanished.

Then came a sharp ache in his neck.

Instinctively, the man dropped his blade and hastily clamped his hands over his throat. But that couldn't stop hot blood from gushing down his shoulders and chest.

"What... the hell... is..."

Unable to finish his last words, he crumpled to the ground.

Holding the broken dagger he had pulled from the belly of the boy who had just died, Shan looked down at the fallen man and let out a small sigh.

"Ah."

Until the very last instant, he'd doubted, and doubted again.

What if all those clumsy movements were merely meant to deceive him?

What if, the moment he tried to strike back, the man whipped his head around and sneered, "You idiot. Did you really think I was that weak?"

But nothing of the sort happened.

As Shan bent down, pulled the dagger from the corpse, circled into the man's blind spot, and slit his throat, the bandit before him hadn't reacted at all.

Only then did the elephant bound in chains realize that a single stamp of its foot could have pulled out the iron stake.