Fragment 2

In front of him, were the traitors of humanity. 

He had fought them and apprehended them. He was meant to immediately hand them to the Church so they could be dealt with. He was told not to speak to them no matter what. Usually, he obeyed those orders. That's what he did every time he got to this point previously. But this time, he went against the Church's instructions.

Was it morbid curiosity? A whim? Or maybe he wanted to settle this feeling of wrongness that had pursued him his entire journey? Regardless, before he knew it, he found himself interrogating the cultists.

They were members of the demonic cult. They worshiped the Demon Lord and scorned everything holy: the blessings, the Heroes, and even the Goddess herself.

It was common knowledge taught to everyone from a young age. Cultists were beings of pure evil. Their hearts were corrupted by the Demon Lord, and they wanted to see nothing more than the destruction of the world. In a way, they were closer to demons than humans; the Church even called them demons wearing human skin.

But as he spoke to them, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see them as anything but humans.

They were gathered from all walks of life: from elderly citizens to former priests, from rich merchants to the lowliest peasants, from war-hardened veterans to the most privileged royals.

Before he was experienced enough, they had taken his life on many occasions. And yet, no matter how much he observed them, no matter how much he thought, and no matter how much he talked to them, his opinion didn't change; they were human through and through.

But of course. That much was obvious. Whether you follow a Goddess or worship the Demon Lord, a human can only remain as such. The only people who could surpass humanity were the bearers of the Goddess's Blessing.

Frankly, he probably realized that a long time ago. Even before he had started resetting. He just didn't want to admit it. The cultists were nothing more and nothing less than normal humans who were disappointed in this world.

Suffering from the abuse of power. Struggling through hardships of life. Lamenting the system that continuously twisted the world.

They possessed different views, had different struggles, and were of different minds. But they all agreed on one thing.

Slowly, painfully, and surely—the world was being twisted. The systems that were once built to better the world became the poison that rotted it from the inside.

And if the system was twisted, there was only one thing to do—destroy it. Destroy it so it can be rebuilt anew.

He could comprehend it rationally. Some people were unfortunate, some blamed their own failings on the system, and some felt that they could never be accepted by this world. And so, they turned away from the Goddess's faith that couldn't save them towards something else.

He didn't agree with their goal of destruction. He had hope that this world could still improve. In fact, it was his duty as the bearer of the Goddess's Blessing to make the world better.

But despite his resolve, no matter how much time had passed, he could not stop doubting himself. He was prepared to kill demons and risk his life, hell, he was even prepared to kill humans. But wasn't it a contradiction? To kill humans in order to save humanity?

With that contradiction in mind, he continued his journey. He struggled, he suffered, he persevered, and he walked this path, trapped in the repeating worlds.

And then eventually, he broke. 

It happened when he struck down another cultist. A normal thing that he had done so many times before. Death was always sad, of course, but he lived in an era of strife; he was used to seeing people die left and right. If he wanted to save the world, he couldn't let this stop him.

That's what he always told himself.

But as he held the fragile, tiny corpse in his hands, he found himself unable to hide behind those words any longer.

Ah. I understand it now...

So this is the system you despise.

He understood what the cultists sought to destroy.

It was this world where murdering a twelve-year-old child was called justice.