78
A Scam Called Salvation
It was night, and naturally, Oliver was reflected in the glass. Yes, I dodged immediately, and as soon as I did, I launched myself off the table and kicked Oliver hard. Oliver, who had never been properly hit by me before, flew back and crashed into the railing, dropping his gun. I secured the gun and then straddled Oliver to search his body. I thought he might be wearing a bomb or something and being threatened.
A bomb?
As I just mouthed the question, Oliver asked, “Wh-what?” His eyes weren’t focusing clearly, probably still not fully recovered from being hit. Judging by his inability to understand properly and the fact that I couldn’t feel anything on him, it didn’t seem like he was being threatened with a bomb. With nothing catching my fingers, it appeared he had no weapons other than the gun.
Everyone tried to rush over at the sound of the gunshot, but the security guards stopped them. They knew who I was and first pushed the civilians – my father and brothers – inside before the person in charge came out onto the balcony.
“What happened?”
“I’d like to know that too.”
I tapped Oliver’s cheek, waiting for him to come to his senses. He was suddenly crying and apologizing, then he shot? No, how does a monk who chants sutras and rolls prayer beads even have a gun in the first place? I looked down at the gun I was holding. Then I immediately cursed, “Shit.”
“It’s those Canaris bastards, isn’t it?”
It might not be, but in Rotman, the guys who use this gun are generally Canaris people. That’s because this gun was briefly popular at the end of the Blaiberg era. It’s not a bad gun, but nowadays an improved version has come out, and it’s cheaper. That’s because this gun uses silver to make it look fancy. However, the Canaris guys always use this gun. It’s one of the many symbols of their desire to return to Blaiberg.
The person in charge standing behind me clicked his tongue, saying, “My, what an antique.” In this day and age, who actually uses a gun like this?
Ah, right in front of me. The bastard who’s supposed to be my brother.
“Oliver, try to come to your senses.”
He’s about ten centimeters taller than me? Even bigger, and yet he’s still trembling and unable to regain his senses. I had to growl a bit.
“Hey, do I have to hurt you for you to come to your senses? Should I break a finger or two?”
Oliver looked up at me, startled. His eyes were full of fear. He asked, “Who are you? What kind of person are you?” with a face as if looking at a stranger.
Ah, I raised my siblings too gently.
I raised my hand and lightly slapped his cheek. It was really just a light slap, and of course, being a professional, I considered everything. I hit with the base of my fingers rather than my palm, choosing the safest area to strike. It would probably redden for now but should subside within 30 minutes. It was the first time in my life I’d hit someone with such careful consideration, but with just that one slap, Oliver’s eyes welled up with tears.
“You, you hit me? You, my brother?”
“You shot at me.”
Oliver closed his mouth tightly at my words. An expression that seemed to say ‘even so’ flashed across his face. No, he used to be smart, how did he become such an idiot? Is there some kind of geomantic influence in Urnan? Why is everyone like this, including my biological father?
“Why did you shoot? Which bastard gave you this gun?”
“……”
“Let’s talk when you feel like talking.”
Then I twisted Oliver’s finger. I didn’t intend to argue for long. Unnecessarily raising his pain threshold might make him think he could endure it and engage in mental gymnastics like ‘I am a noble person being persecuted.’ It might be fine for others to do that, but I couldn’t watch my own brother suffer meaningless pain while doing such nonsense.
As his finger was bent in a direction and angle it shouldn’t, Oliver screamed, “Aaaaargh—” I heard a tongue click behind me.
“Such brotherly love.”
The person in charge laughed. Being in the same industry, he probably saw right through my thoughts. He said, “Well, please share the conclusion when you reach one. I’ll take my leave for now,” and left the balcony. After confirming he had left, I grabbed Oliver’s hand again. This time, when I applied pressure to his wrist, Oliver writhed and screamed.
“I don’t know who it was! They didn’t tell me their name!”
What an amateur… But he’s my brother, this is maddening.
“Their face?”
“They were wearing a mask and sunglasses!”
“Voice?”
“It, it was mechanically altered…”
When you add madness to madness, what you get is violence. I slapped Oliver’s head with my palm, smack, smack.
“You idiot! Not knowing anything! Taking something so dangerous!”
One smash for each exclamation mark, I lashed out.
“What if! I had been! A civilian! You! After killing me! Could you have lived well?! And! With so many! Witnesses here! If you killed me here! Would you have survived?! Huh?! Huh?! My fiancée is! A Riegel! Could you have handled! The aftermath?!”
This bastard, I thought he was the smartest among our siblings, but he’s just a pseudo-intellectual! Idiot, are you crazy?! As I shouted and hit his head and forehead, Oliver dodged around and shouted.
“In Urnan!”
The fact that I hesitated at the name of that country made me think that perhaps I would be like this for the rest of my life. But it was only for a very brief moment. I hit him again.
“What about Urnan?!”
“Kids keep dying, brother…”
Urnan is a poor country. It has been groaning under dictatorship for decades, the rebels are dangerous in their own way, and justice has long been twisted. However, Urnan has built a high reputation as a Buddhist country for a very long time. Especially since one of the contemporary great monks is from Urnan, Oliver seemed to have been greatly impressed by him and left for that dangerous country.
“Brother, I can’t do anything… I’m too poor and powerless. Just, with the money for one meal here, we could save kids… but they die because we don’t have that money. People are dying. It’s so… painful there…”
“……”
“But someone donated a lot of medicine. A lot of people survived. That person is a living Buddha in our area. Even Buddha himself couldn’t have done such a great thing. And that person…”
“Gave you a gun saying they wanted me dead?”
“…They said you were trying to kill them, so they were worried and gave me the gun because you’re dangerous. That’s what they said, but… they said they were too scared of you… Scared that you might hurt them again… So, they asked what they should do for that fear to disappear. If that fear disappears, they said they would believe Buddha was protecting them and want to serve our area’s people for life…”
That’s some roundabout way of speaking. So basically, they said they’d make a huge donation if you came back after killing me, spinning it around like a whirlwind.
Watching Oliver sniffle, I was dumbfounded.
“How much did they say they’d donate?”
“I don’t know that.”
“Of course, you didn’t get any kind of contract?”
Oliver cried, saying, “How could I ask for that…” His finger was killing him, but he couldn’t ask to be taken to the hospital, and he was scared of what he had done, and in the midst of all this, the only person he could confide this story to was me, whom he had tried to kill. After all, I was the one involved. Surprisingly, many people who spill information under torture don’t do so because they succumb to the torture. Some people just need an excuse that they succumbed to torture. Of course, I didn’t care whether they needed an excuse or not. I was just an employee who needed to produce results, a civil servant who needed that information right away to prevent a greater tragedy. Generally, the information these people provide is things like the location of the next bomb attack. We don’t torture just anyone either. Who would want to do such a difficult and messy job unless it’s really urgent? Even Walter, who’s a sadist, hated it. He said he was a sadist in inclination, not a psychopath.
Maybe Oliver needed an excuse too. That’s why he thought of shooting in front of everyone. I can guess. Oliver had been in that area for several years. He must have been a highly respected monk there. I know Urnan. Urnan people are the kind who would bring the best food to monks even if they themselves are starving. You could say they have intense Buddhist faith. Living with such people for years, despairing in helplessness every day, and then realizing that you alone can save these people, when you think that killing your own brother is the way to save hundreds of people, how many people wouldn’t go crazy?
The person chose well. Oliver thinks he’s smart, but he’s actually a religious person who knows nothing about the ways of the world. He couldn’t even ask who the other person was because of the atmosphere, nor did he get a promise of compensation. Creating such an atmosphere. Yes, Canaris is good at that kind of thing. That’s why they continuously provoked the people of Maderke to create a riot. Of course, they didn’t create the underlying conditions. But they expertly manipulate existing situations.
“Brother!”
Finally, Stefan pushed past the security guards and opened the balcony door. His eyes were frozen blue.
“I’m fine, nothing happened.”
At my words, the head of security behind Stefan looked at me, demanding confirmation with his eyes as if to ask if I was serious. So I looked straight at him and said again.
“There’s a gun of unknown origin floating around here, dangerously. My brother was startled and broke his finger. I need to call my fiancée to bring a doctor.”
The person in charge quickly nodded.
“Yes, please do so. Before they arrive, please let us know the names of the doctor and their companions.”
“I will.”
At his words, Stefan shouted, “What are you talking about?! Oliver tried to…!” But I cut him off sharply.
“Stefan!”
When I shouted, Stefan flinched.
“Nothing happened. Just an unknown gun was lying around and accidentally went off.”
Stefan blinked unsteadily and then shouted, “Do whatever you want!” and turned his back. I tried to support Oliver, but he couldn’t stand up. The broken finger would be a problem, but he was already exhausted, both physically and mentally, from too much pain. I hoisted Oliver onto my shoulder and was about to enter a room roughly when my father asked.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened, Father.”
“I see.”
I was glad my father understood my intention. As I closed the door and went in, I heard my father calling the children, saying, “Come on, focus!” He would probably comfort them well. I picked up my phone.
