Is It Wrong To Crave Love (In A Dungeon) Chapter 4 - Hate

I shouldn’t have taught her how to perform the Dogeza.

His morning would not be spent here, at the back of an old, decrepit church, standing on grass that had only been recently cut, and cut poorly and hurriedly. He often preferred to look to the East each morning, to enjoy the fresh, early morning sun bathing his face as he clasped his hands and prepared himself for a day hard at work, selling potato puffs, doing his part to ensure the growth of his followers and his Familia.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Takemikazuchi-sama.”

Takemikazuchi lifted a soft, tiny brow at the address. Did Hestia tell him to use honorifics? Staring at the skinny, malnourished, blue-haired child in front of him, holding out a crude wooden stick in the shape of a sword, it was clear the child had never held a weapon in his life. No, it was a stance that made it clear he had never held not just a weapon, but any tool that would be typical of one who spent their lives engaged in hard labor.

Just exactly as Hestia suspected.

Damn it, Hestia.

Takemikazuchi fought back the sigh that almost came from his lips.

Why would you use my secret technique against me?

When he taught Hestia how to perform the dogeza, he never imagined she would use it against him. It had come to a complete surprise when the infamous oppai-goddess had met him in the afternoon at his workplace, got on her knees, and smacked her head perfectly against the pavement with a resounding slam that drew multiple eyes, and performed a textbook perfect dogeza as she made her request.

“Please, Take! Accept my child as your student!” 

The latter part of her request, ‘as your student,’ had somehow gone unheard. His customers, the lovely children who came by to purchase at least one or two potato puffs, had all turned on him with red, flaming eyes, giving him the sort of disdain that only a scorned woman could possess. There had been a deluge of clicking of tongues and discontented grumbles from the female children who grossly misunderstood the situation.

“Never knew he was the playboy type…”

“Such an innocent face too…”

“Tsk. You really can’t trust any of the male gods these days…”

He had, at the time, hurriedly and unthinkingly accepted, rushing to get Hestia off her feet and drag her away from the public eye before her request could do any further harm. Takemikazuchi was well aware of how stubborn Hestia could be, and there was no doubt in his mind that if he refused that request, she would remain there through sunshine, rain, and snow until he accepted. He had entered into a panic-stricken ‘damage control’ mode, fearing that the longer she would remain there, the faster word would spread, and the more likely his reputation — and more importantly, income — would be devastated.

Takemikazuchi truly was too busy trying to manage his Familia to start training another child. He had only told Hestia once in passing that he was the one who trained all of his children personally in the use of weapons and warfare, but he didn’t think the goddess would remember that detail, and not only remember it, but make a request that he do the same for her child.

“I asked him what sort of weapon he’d like, but he said anything I decided for him would be best. I asked him if he was good with any weapons, and he said he’d strive to be the best with any weapon I choose for him. I don’t know much about weapons or fighting, Takemikazuchi! What if I end up picking a weapon that doesn’t fit him? What if he ends up hurt because I picked something he wasn’t suited for at all?”

He had argued that if all her child needed was advice with picking a weapon, there was no need to take the boy on as a student. Takemikazuchi was fond of Hestia, but doing this was certainly more than a ‘small favor.’ Training another god’s child was an investment in time and resources that even the most benevolent of gods and goddesses would think twice about making. There was almost no one who would agree to doing so for free, let alone doing so in exchange for the promise of an intangible ‘favor.’ 

However, Hestia had pressed further. She had been adamant.

“I suspect Moses doesn’t know the first thing about weapons. He doesn’t know anything about fighting either. He’s afraid to tell me.”

“Moses-kun… was it?”

“Yes, Takemikazuchi-sama?”

Takemikazuchi’s lips twitched at the honorific.

“Come at me as though you intend to kill me.”

The boy took an uneasy step forward. He shuffled his feet slowly. He moved, one foot in front of the other, uneasily, and held the makeshift wooden sword almost flimsily in his hand, and pointed it at him, as though it were trying to poke a tiger through a cage. The entire thing had Takemikazuchi watching in amusement.

His amusement changed to confusion as seconds turned into minutes, and his confusion changed into understanding, as the minutes nearly reached half an hour, and the boy was still standing there, the wooden sword held forward, but the boy was not moving an inch.

“You come from a society where violence is forbidden.”

The boy went stiff and rigid, as though a bucket of water had been doused on him.

Takemikazuchi chuckled. “I was unaware there was a place on Gekai that has known that level of peace.”

Not even the rich, pampered children of Emperors of the Far East had the ingrained restraint and hesitation against violence the boy exhibited. Not even the Monks he had seen possessed an inclination that spoke utterly against the necessity for violence.

Takemikazuchi was a God of War. More strictly, he was a god of the sword and a god of combat. Each god was allowed to use their authority as they wished within Gekai, and it did not count as breaking the rules. His authority and expertise were that of combat and warfare. In that regard, just as Soma was unrivaled in creating wine, and Hephaestus unrivaled in smithing, he was unrivaled in combat.

Despite having the body of a human without a Falna, he could effortlessly defeat any Level 1 Adventurer. The same was true for Level 2 and Level 3 adventurers. Level 4 Adventurers would fall with some struggle. None would ever be able to defeat him head-on in a fight. The only way he could foresee himself being defeated by an enemy below at least Level 5 was if he was surrounded by dozens of them, and if they fought to outlast his stamina, which, in the end, was still that of a human without a Falna.

Thus, when Takemikazuchi was in combat, he was omniscient and near-omnipotent. As this was his authority, he still retained his divine perception and preternatural discernment.

From how a person fought and how they refused to fight, Takemikazuchi could understand more about them than any thousand-page epistle or epic poem.

Thus, at a glance, Takemikazuchi saw it.

This child comes from a place where he has been repeatedly told that violence is wrong.

The boy’s stance, his hesitation, all of it spoke to him. The child appeared to be warring against an innate instinct, a voice, an instilled, ingrained belief that taught him: violence is bad.

How is that possible?

Given the existence of monsters, any society that taught such an ingrained aversion to violence was all but certain to be destroyed sooner or later. So, at first, Takemikazuchi doubted it was a societal lesson, and thought it to be a personal one, one which the child had internalized as though it were society that taught it to him. 

However, the child’s reaction proved he had been right, which confused him greatly. Where on Gekai could possibly afford such peace that it taught children to be averse to violence? That violence was wrong, no matter what?

Or perhaps… it was not peace?

Instilling the lesson that violence was never acceptable was a method often used to prevent uprisings and stifle any flames of revolution and rebellion. Takemikazuchi had seen clans of ‘pacifists’ become subject to cruel, callous, corrupt rulers, as those in power fattened themselves up at the expense of the ‘peaceful.’

For if they believed unwaveringly in peace, they would never resort to violence, and the ones who ruled over them had no reason to fear them.

“Pacifism, while noble in intent, is something to abandon if you wish to become an adventurer, Moses-kun,” Takemikazuchi said. “You will not survive if you do not possess the capacity for remorseless violence.”

It was something he never needed to teach his children, for they all knew better. Mikoto, Ouka, and Chigusa were well aware of the need for violence.

“I’m not that noble, Takemikazuchi-sama. I’m no pacifist,” he denied. “I’m just scared.”

Takemikazuchi blinked at the frank, blunt admission.

“You don’t need to worry, you won’t be able to hurt me.”

“That’s not what I’m scared of.”

Takemikazuchi grew curious. “What are you scared of?”

“Myself.”

“Yourself?”

Moses nodded. “My capacity for violence.” 

Takemikazuchi lifted a brow.

“Isn’t it something to be scared of?” Moses asked, his hand trembling. “It’s like virginity, isn’t it? Once you take that step, it's gone forever. True violence. Proper violence. The ability to decide I will hurt others. To decide, I will kill others. To inflict pain on others because I need to.”

Takemikazuchi found it curious. It was an unusual perspective he’d not considered. Violence was something that was a given, as the very existence of the Dungeon, of monsters, guaranteed that most individuals would accept that they had to inflict violence or be violent at one point or another.

Yet, he had never met anyone afraid of that capacity.

Takemikazuchi crossed his arms as he asked gently, “Have you never inflicted pain on others, Moses-kun?”

“Never deliberately,” Moses said, with a shake of his head. “Never knowingly.”

“But others have inflicted pain on you. Deliberately.”

“They have,” Moses admitted.

“Great pain.”

“Yes.”

“And despite that…” Takemikazuchi pressed. “You still never wished to inflict pain on others?”

“Why should I?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“If you’ve felt it, really felt pain, then it’s not something that you would want others to feel too. It’s something you wouldn’t want others to feel. Why should I want others to feel as terrible as I have?”

Takemikazuchi chuckled. “That’s a rare perspective, Moses-kun.”

“Is it?”

Many children operated on an ‘eye-for-an-eye’ and a ‘tooth-for-a-tooth’ basis. Even his children weren’t quite immune to that philosophy. The existence of the War Games more than solidified that mentality in the children, because often, the wagers made on them meant losing was to lose everything, and to be plundered for everything. Every slight and offense taken was to be paid back tenfold.

What makes him different?

Takemikazuchi stepped forward. “Moses-kun, make a downward swing into the air for me.”

“A swing?”

“Imagine you’re striking the one responsible for the greatest pain you have ever felt. Picture them in front of you, and make a downwards swing. An attack.”

Moses lifted his wooden sword and swung once, downwards. The air did not shift.

“Again.”

The boy swung again.

“Once more, please.”

The boy gripped the makeshift sword and swung down a third time.

“Like… this? Is this right…?”

Takemikazuchi fell silent.

“Keep swinging. As much as you can.”

“Okay…”

With every swing, the enemy began to take shape. Takemikazuchi saw it.

Bullied… Abandoned… Abused… Starved… Mocked… Desperate…

The arc of his swings, the emotions he poured into them, his focus—

Drowned. 

Takemikazuchi watched as the boy’s swings grew faster and faster, and became more manic. 

A body hitting the water, the world going dark. A fear of death. Then, consciousness. Lungs starting to burn. Drowning. Suffocating. The human need and demand for air reared its diabolical head and wrested away the mercy of a painless death. Bones were broken, everything was broken, everything hurt, but nothing hurt more than his chest, his lungs, squealing like a butchered pig. Pain akin to serrated knives scraping the insides of his heart, pain akin to a drill turning and flaying layers upon layers of his lungs, pain akin to fire set inside his body that could not be quenched.

Then silence.

And the boy kept swinging.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Moses kept swinging.

Lonely. Lonely. Lonely.

He kept swinging.

Cold. Cold. Cold.

Again, he kept swinging.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

Without rest, he kept swinging.

I want to be loved. I want to be loved. I want to be loved.

Unrelenting, he kept swinging.

I have to be useful. I have to be useful. I have to be useful.

Unending, he kept swinging.

Why? Why? Why?

He swung until the image of the enemy in front of him became clear enough for Takemikazuchi to discern without any effort.

His enemy, the person who had brought him the most pain—

It was himself.

Hestia… this child of yours…

Takemikazuchi heard once that when it came to children, two kinds were created after enduring suffering. The first was the kind that said, ‘I have suffered greatly, so others must suffer too. ’ 

The second was the kind that said:  ‘I have suffered greatly, so I do not want anyone else to suffer too.’

His attack, his sword, through it all—

“Moses-kun, you can stop swinging.”

The boy stopped his motions. There was not the tiniest bit of sign of physical exertion. 

“Wait, when did it get dark? It was… just sunrise.”

“You’ve been swinging for the entire day.”

“I… have?” He scratched the back of his head. “The Falna really is amazing. I don’t feel tired at all.”

That isn’t the Falna’s doing…

“Moses-kun, do you not have any hatred in your heart?”

“Hatred?”

“Hatred,” Takemikazuchi repeated. “Hatred for the world. For others.”

You swung your blade hundreds of times, and never, not once, was the enemy anyone but yourself.

“I used to.”

Moses admitted.

“What changed?”

“As I grew older, I wanted to know what love felt like. So I had to let hatred go.”

Takemikazuchi’s brows went high. “You had to let it go?”

“Well, it’s common sense, right?”

Moses awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

“How can I know what love feels like… if my heart is full of hate?”

Takemikazuchi couldn’t help it. He broke out into laughter. Long, deep, rich laughter, that he had not experienced truly in years.

“Takemikazuchi-sama?”

“No… It’s nothing.”

You swung your blade hundreds of times, and never, not once, was the enemy anyone but yourself. 

“Sadly, a sword won’t be a good fit for you.”

“It won’t?”

“Not in the least,” Takemikazuchi shook his head. 

A sword points at others. Targets others. But you… 

It was not that Hestia’s child had no hatred at all; it was that he had no hatred to spare.

There is no one in this world you hate other than yourself… 

“Instead of a sword…”

Takemikazuchi stepped forward, grabbing a piece of branch from a tree, forming it into a staff. He spun it before he tossed it at Moses, and the boy caught it with one outstretched hand.

...Because there is no one in this world you hate more than yourself.

“You’ll use a staff.”