Chapter 37: A Flood of Tears! The Saint's Nightmare Begins!
Just as Albedo took to the skies, her black wings creating a gust that cleared the smoke from the battlefield, Suzaku turned his attention away from the destruction he had wrought.
His gaze swept past the broken gold plating, the shattered glass of the observation dome, and the unconscious bodies of the elite CP0 agents. He ignored the wealth scattered across the deck—diamonds, pearls, and ancient vases that would make any other pirate drool.
His golden eyes landed on the far corner of the ship, huddled by the rail near the stern.
There, a cluster of figures clung tightly to one another. They were women, young girls, and a few children, trembling like leaves in a storm. Their clothes were torn, their skin bruised, and their eyes were wide, clouded with a trauma so deep it had stolen their voices.
They watched Suzaku not with hope, but with the terrified paralysis of prey watching a new predator kill the old one.
Suzaku's expression, which had been a mask of cold indifference during the battle, softened imperceptibly. But underneath that softness, a new, hotter rage began to boil.
"Rem," Suzaku commanded without turning around. His voice was low, controlled, but vibrating with intensity.
"Tie that fat pig on the ground to the main mast. Make sure the knots are tight. I don't want him dying before he understands what's happening."
"Yes, Lord Suzaku."
Rem acknowledged instantly. She moved with the efficiency of a professional, finding a coil of thick, salt-crusted rope nearby.
She walked over to Saint Jalmack. The Celestial Dragon was limp as mud, groaning and sobbing into the expensive wood of the deck. He smelled of fear and waste.
"No... don't touch me! I am a God! My father will hear of this!" Jalmack shrieked as he was dragged across the floor by his collar.
Rem didn't even blink. She hoisted the overweight man up as if he were a sack of potatoes and slammed him against the central mast. With practiced hands, she lashed him to the wood, tying him so securely that only his head could move. He was now a display piece—a monument to his own downfall.
Having finished giving instructions, Suzaku stepped forward. His boots clicked softly on the deck, a rhythmic sound amidst the sobbing. He walked straight toward the group of victims.
Kiyo's Perspective
Kiyo's vision was blurry. Her ears were buzzing, a high-pitched static noise that separated her from the world like a thick curtain of water.
She remembered the weather had been fine today. The sun was shining on the waves. She had arrived at the dock early, joyfully awaiting her parents' return from their morning fishing trip. They were going to have stew for dinner. Her mother had promised to buy her a new ribbon.
Then, the world ended.
Suddenly, many high officials and nobles she never usually saw appeared on the dock. The crowd knelt down like a receding tide, pressing their foreheads to the dirty cobblestones. She instinctively followed, prostrating herself on the ground, terrified of breaking some unknown rule. The stones were cold against her skin.
Then, disaster descended without warning.
An important figure, surrounded by attendants and wearing a glass dome on his head, had walked by. He casually pointed his golden cane at several young girls kneeling by the roadside.
"I want that one. And that one. They look fresh."
Kiyo was one of them.
Before she even understood what "serving his daily needs" meant, she was roughly yanked up from the ground by soldiers in pristine white uniforms. Their hands were rough, bruising her arms.
It wasn't until she was dragged toward that large white ship—the Saint Noros—that she suddenly snapped awake.
She was being taken away. When her parents returned, wouldn't they be unable to find her? Would they think she ran away?
"No, stop! Let go of me! Mama! Papa!"
She had struggled and cried, digging her heels into the wood of the gangplank. But the hand gripping her arm was like an iron clamp. Her meager strength was like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.
Just as she was on the verge of despair, she saw them.
Her parents!
They stumbled out of the crowd, ignoring the guns pointed at them. Her father, usually so proud, was kowtowing nonstop, slamming his head against the ground until his forehead bled. Her mother wept and pleaded for mercy, begging the man in the bubble to take them instead.
"Please! She's just a child! Take anything else! Take our boat! Take our lives!"
In that moment, a faint hope arose in Kiyo's heart. Maybe... just maybe... the important figure would show mercy? After all, they were just ordinary fishermen. They hadn't done anything wrong. This must be a misunderstanding.
However, that hope was shattered so quickly, so completely.
That important figure merely moved a finger. He looked bored.
BANG!
A short, sharp gunshot.
The world lost its color before her eyes.
Her father's body collapsed heavily, a red flower blooming on his chest. Then her mother was kicked down, the sound of her ribs shattering audible even over the wind. Blood stained the pristine white wood of the gangplank red.
Kiyo froze. Her mind went completely blank. The scream died in her throat.
The immense shock robbed her of the ability to think, to breathe. She just stared blankly, unable to comprehend any of it.
This has to be a dream. A terrible nightmare.
She kept telling herself that everything would be fine once she woke up. When she woke up, she would be in her bed, the smell of sea salt and breakfast stew wafting from the kitchen.
Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, she allowed herself to be dragged onto the ship. She didn't fight as they placed a heavy, cold metal collar around her neck. The metal bit into her skin. She didn't react as she was squeezed among strange, equally desperate girls.
Her soul seemed to have drifted away from her body, hovering somewhere above the ship, watching the tragedy happen to someone else. She was just a spectator in her own hell.
It wasn't until that crisp slap echoed across the deck.
SLAP!
It sounded like a bolt of thunder splitting through her dazed world.
Kiyo lifted her head blankly.
She saw that arrogant, important figure—the "God"—clutching his face. He was letting out a horrible squeal, like a pig being slaughtered. He was rolling on the ground in a puddle of his own waste. The bubble was broken. The God was bleeding.
So... an important figure like that... bleeds just like us? He cries like a baby when struck?
This realization was like a small stone dropped into a dead lake, stirring a faint ripple in her heart. The fog began to lift.
Next, she saw the black-haired youth who had struck the blow walking toward them.
He didn't look like a pirate. He didn't have the cruel eyes of the Marines. He looked... calm. Kind, even.
His lips were moving. Was he talking to someone? Oh, he was talking to the blue-haired maid beside him.
She watched him deft unlock the collars—symbols of slavery and fear—from the necks of the other girls, one by one.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of the metal locks opening sounded incredibly clear in that moment. It was the sound of freedom.
Finally, he came before her.
Kiyo stared up at him blankly, her vision still blurry. She flinched slightly as he reached out, expecting a blow.
But he didn't hit her.
His cool fingertips touched the skin of her neck. There was a soft click, and the heavy weight that had been choking her vanished. The collar fell to the deck with a metallic clang, rolling away like a discarded shackle.
Next, a warm palm gently rested on her forehead.
So warm...
This real warmth, carrying the heat of life, was like sunlight instantly piercing the cold barrier of her nightmare.
Kiyo trembled violently. The nerves that had been tight and numb suddenly snapped.
It wasn't a dream!
My parents... are really dead!
They died right in front of me. Their blood is on the dock. I will never see them again. I will never eat stew with them again.
This realization surged over her like a tidal wave, instantly drowning her.
Her vision was completely blurred by tears. She raised a trembling hand to wipe them away, but she couldn't clear them.
Hot tears surged out uncontrollably, like floodwaters bursting through a dam.
The fear, despair, sadness, and immense pain that had been suppressed for too long finally erupted.
"Uwu... Uwaaaaaaaa!"
Kiyo collapsed onto the deck, burying her face in her hands, wailing with the raw, gut-wrenching grief of a child who had lost everything.
Suzaku's Perspective
Suzaku watched the girl before him break down. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her thin shoulders shaking violently. The sound was agonizing—a pure, unfiltered cry of loss.
He froze, his hand still hovering in the air where he had patted her head. He felt somewhat helpless for a moment.
His intentions were good. He wanted to offer comfort. But he hadn't expected his touch to be the catalyst that opened the floodgates of her trauma. He was a warrior, not a therapist.
The girl's cries were filled with the deepest, most suppressed despair he had ever heard. It was the sound of a heart breaking into a million pieces.
"Lord Suzaku..."
A soft voice whispered from behind him.
"Please leave this to Rem."
Rem, who had been standing silently guarding his back, stepped forward. Her single visible eye was filled with empathy. She understood loss. She understood the pain of losing family to monsters. She remembered the smell of the Witch's Cult.
Seeing Suzaku's slight discomfort, she immediately took over.
Rem knelt down on the blood-stained deck. She disregarded the dirt and grime that would stain her pristine uniform. She gently pulled the weeping girl into her embrace.
She wrapped her not-so-broad but very firm arms around Kiyo, pulling her head onto her shoulder. She patted the girl's back rhythmically, her voice extremely soft and slow, like a lullaby.
"It's alright... It's already alright... You are safe now."
"Uwaaa! Papa! Mama!" Kiyo screamed into Rem's apron, clutching the fabric desperately as if it were a lifeline.
"I know... I know it hurts," Rem whispered, rocking her gently. "Just cry it out... Let it all out. No one will hurt you anymore."
Under Rem's patient and gentle comfort, the violent trembling in Kiyo's body gradually subsided. The screams turned into soft, hiccuping sobs. Although tears still fell silently, the suffocating pressure in her chest seemed to have found an outlet.
After a long while, Kiyo gently pulled away from Rem's embrace.
Her eyes were red and swollen. Her voice was hoarse. But there was a clarity in her gaze that hadn't been there before. The emptiness was gone, replaced by gratitude.
She slowly got to her knees, facing Suzaku. Then, she bowed her head until her forehead touched the deck.
"Thank you..."
Her voice cracked.
"Thank you, Lord... for saving my life. For avenging my parents."
This act of kneeling seemed to startle the other girls who were still in shock. They awoke as if from a dream.
One by one, they fell to their knees. The deck was filled with the sounds of weeping gratitude from those who had survived a catastrophe.
"Thank you!" "You saved us!" "Thank you so much!"
Suzaku sighed, scratching the back of his head. He wasn't used to being worshipped. He didn't do this for gratitude; he did it because he could.
"Get up, all of you. There's no need for this. I just took out the trash."
He signaled Rem to help them up.
"Rem, take everyone onto the Vermillion Wing. Give them food, water, and clean clothes. Settle them down in the guest cabins. Make sure they don't see what happens next."
Suzaku looked at the girls with a gentle expression, a rare softness in his eyes.
"Once we reach a safe place, we'll find a suitable island for you to disembark. You are free now."
"Rem understands."
Rem nodded in acknowledgment. She began guiding the girls toward the gangplank, her demeanor gentle and maternal.
But before she left, her gaze turned to the main mast.
She looked at Saint Jalmack, who was tied up and still muttering about his "divine status," completely oblivious to the suffering he had caused.
A cold, blue flame ignited in Rem's eye. The demon resurfaced for a split second.
"Lord Suzaku..." Rem whispered, her voice dropping an octave. "How should we deal with this disgusting fellow? Rem believes we absolutely cannot let him off easily. Death is too kind for what he did to these girls."
Watching Rem's rare expression of genuine anger, Suzaku rubbed his chin.
He looked at the sobbing Kiyo being led away. He looked at the blood on the deck. Then he looked at the fat man tied to the pole.
A playful, cruel glint flashed in Suzaku's eyes.
"Hmm... you're right, Rem."
He smirked, a predator looking at prey.
"We have some time before the Marines arrive. Why don't we... play a little game with him?"
He walked over to Saint Jalmack, tapping the flat of a blade against his palm. The sound was rhythmic, ominous.
"Let's see if a God bleeds the same color as the people he killed."
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