Chapter 242 – Legend of the Masked Children (XII)

Chapter 242

Legend of the Masked Children (XII)

The night fell, though the city was still very much alive.

Okay, maybe “alive” is a bit of an inappropriate word, considering, but there were lights practically everywhere, as virtually every able-bodied person had come to aid in trying to locate any of the remaining survivors as well as slowly start moving the rubble away, at least from the streets.

Nothing brings people together quite like a tragedy does–I suppose, even here, that stands true.

The difference is that there are a lot of cultivators in the city, which accelerated at least the cleanup part of it.

A secondary issue arose, however, becoming the reason why none of the higher-ups of the Spirit Blossom Sect had returned even as the dawn was nearly cracking–the political fallout of this tragedy will likely be massive. Even if just one or two of the competitors from the Holy Lands died, I imagine that the consequences would be… dire.

Kids, on the other hand, were conked out of their minds, fast asleep.

The weird bit?

… they were on top of me. As in, literally. To ensure my safety and health, they refused to leave my side, even if the adrenaline fueling them slowly ran out and they crashed. Now, I’m stuck under three kids, unable to move, wondering just how many times I’ll have to live through this.

I’ll still have to recruit kids in the future, if I want to keep getting points at least, so… probably lots.

For now, though, I look down at the tired, blissful faces of the three and wonder what ‘normalcy’ even is.

They’d already regaled me with their tales of conquest, likely fishing for my praise, and though I’d given it… I was honestly horrified. Not that they killed–by now, for the most part, I’d have made my peace with it. But how almost unremorseful they were about it. It’d be one thing if they felt any way toward it, but, honestly, it was as though they were chopping logs rather than limbs.

Sure, there’s a skewed sense of normalcy, but theirs feels… too skewed.

“You’re still awake?” Long Tao showed up from the shadows, and my mood immediately dropped. “Are you still mad?”

“You’re mad. I’m just angry.”

“Funny,” he smiled faintly as he sat down by the table, taking out a limp piece of lettuce–no, wait, that’s an ashen-colored vine. “Both you and the kids are the talk of the city, you know?”

“Sure. It’s just been invaded and attacked, but, yes, they are talking about random strangers.”

“Heroics never go unseen, Master,” he said. “But… that’s not important.”

“What is, then?”

“… I apologize.”

“H-huh?” I stammered, certain I misheard him.

“Whether it means anything, I truly did not expect this. I’d underestimated the apathetic glee toward life and death they’d feel.”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author’s consent. Report any sightings.

“…”

“Do you see us as monsters?” He suddenly asked, his gaze… odd. Almost like there was a level of uncertainty contained therein and, though I’m probably entirely wrong, fear.

“No more than I see myself as one,” I replied rather honestly; I can’t really go about espousing holier-than-thou crap. Not anymore, at least. I’d killed too, today, and, all things considered, I’m not having a mental break over it. Sure, I’m not gleeful, but I’m not all that bothered, either. “I… I simply feel that you don’t trust me.” I said, and it was his turn to stammer.