The wind howled in his ears as he ran at full speed, making it almost impossible to hear anything else.
Only after calming down slightly did Kurapika realize that Mo'er hadn't called out to stop him, nor had she chased after him.
Right, Mo'er believed that doing "nothing" could reduce the impact of the "butterfly effect"—her passive way of doing things, so she chose to let things be?
The greatest obstacle he had anticipated had vanished effortlessly. The lingering taste of blood in his mouth reminded Kurapika of what he had done. He stood frozen for a moment, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then followed his plan to find a bus stop and take a bus to the airport.
"Finding directions" and "using transportation" were the simplest things. This wasn't a secluded forest; this was a city with many people, making it easy to find someone willing to offer a little help.
But there was a significant problem: that help couldn't solve Kurapika's biggest current difficulty—lack of money.
The funds the elder had given him for "external testing" were almost depleted after purchasing daily necessities for the entire village. Coupled with the bus ticket he had just bought, Kurapika's money was no longer enough to buy an airship ticket.
But it was okay!
Based on Kurapika's "village life experience" and "common knowledge from books," one could work for compensation anywhere.
However, reality was not as smooth as stories in books. The airport staff not only refused his request but also treated him like a runaway child. If he hadn't sensed something was wrong, he would have been taken to the police station.
Although he hadn't done anything illegal, the hidden village of the Kurta clan was a secret that needed to be kept, something he couldn't easily reveal to others. He had to find his own way home.
Being rebuffed at the airport not only made him realize the gap between reality and books but also made him aware of another thing—he was too eager for success.
Yes, he had focused entirely on the speed of transportation but had overlooked that airships had fixed routes. Following these routes, the connected paths actually had many twists and turns, far from his idealized shortest straight-line path.
The compromise turned out better than expected. After all, land was humankind's domain. With so many different vehicles on the road, Kurapika had numerous opportunities to try. As long as he succeeded once, he could get closer to home.
A little closer.
He couldn't remember how many times he encountered disregard, coldness, and doubt, even ill intentions, and finally, precious kindness.
Kurapika had experienced more of the warmth and coldness of human relationships on this journey than in his entire twelve years combined—he seemed to have had an excessive fantasy about the outside world.
He missed home even more, missing everyone's smiles, missing the peaceful and harmonious days.
He drifted into a daze amidst the bouncing of the vehicle.
He woke up again, still drowsy, amidst the bouncing of the vehicle.
"Having a nightmare?" the uncle driver added, "You're still frowning."
"Ah..." The continuous travel, day and night, had made Kurapika's voice unmistakably weary. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Yes, I have a bad feeling. I hope it's just my imagination."
Nerves before arriving home.
But even the longest journey has a destination.
After stepping into the forest where the Kurta clan lived in seclusion, even though fatigue from many days had accumulated deep within his body, and he had only maintained his body's functions by drinking water and taking short naps, Kurapika still managed to ignore his hunger and lack of sleep. Of course, he hadn't gone entirely without food, but he could barely remember it, as he had no intention of thinking about trivial matters.
He unconsciously fell into a deeper state of excitement.
He kept forcing himself forward, opening his eyes to see, and opening his ears to listen.
Only "making a sound" was impossible; it got stuck in his throat and wouldn't come out.
For the first time, he felt fear, or rather, timidity, about calling out to his family and companions.
He remembered his nightmare again: the village was empty, and no one answered him.
He had already crossed the first black stain.
This was a dividing line, with no turning back.
It felt as if something was tightly constricting his chest, making every breath extremely difficult.
This was a real nightmare.
Yet, his footsteps felt unreal.
Kurapika didn't know how he was walking; he felt as if he were walking in a dream, his feet not on solid ground, his steps seeming to float.
He was fortunate.
Due to the forest being in a peculiar climatic period, the bodies had not decayed severely, and the smell emanating from them was within a tolerable range. The insects crawling in and out of the bodies' orifices were not too numerous.
He was also unfortunate.
Because the bodies had not decayed severely, he could clearly see the remaining injuries on them, the empty eye sockets that had been forcibly gouged out, allowing him to easily ascertain what his clansmen had experienced before their deaths.
When the impact of the scene surpassed the limit of his mental endurance, not just his limbs, but Kurapika felt his entire body go numb.
The expression on his face was indeed numb, but his emotions were gathered in his eyes, like tears of blood that could overflow at any moment.
The primary reason he didn't go mad immediately was that he still had things to confirm.
Kurapika walked numbly, counting the bodies numbly, no longer trying to distinguish their names or contemplating what they had endured before death, for fear of losing his last shred of sanity.
One hundred and twenty-one.
One hundred and twenty-two.
One hundred and twenty-three.
The hope of "survivors" gradually diminished as the numbers increased.
One hundred and twenty-four.
One hundred and twenty-five.
One hundred and twenty-six.
Despair gripped Kurapika's outstretched foot, and he almost stumbled and fell.
One hundred and twenty-seven.
Impossible. Did I count wrong?
Kurapika looked around. The village, once filled with laughter and joy, was now surrounded by countless bodies.
Impossible. I must be dreaming again.
Kurapika raised his hand and slapped himself hard. However, the sensation of pain was also numb at this moment, becoming very indistinct.
So he hit himself again.
Until his cheek swelled up.
One hundred and twenty-eight.
No matter how he counted, the number of bodies remained one hundred and twenty-eight.
Exactly one hundred and twenty-eight.
128 fellow clansmen and the rich, beautiful forest—for the 12 years of Kurapika's life, they were almost his entire world.
Happy playful scuffles, friendly conversations, running, laughter, a childhood devoid of worries at 12 years old, was thus shattered.
Kurapika's world was destroyed.
By the time he realized it, Kurapika was already kneeling on the ground, his ten fingers digging deeply into the soil covered in black stains.
They were dried bloodstains, so much so that they had seeped deep into the soil. Kurapika frantically dug with his fingers for an unknown amount of time before seeing the original yellowish-brown color of the earth.
Little by little, the yellowish-brown turned into mottled dark colors; those dark colors were wet—they were Kurapika's large, falling tears.
It started with silent crying, then suppressed sobs.
With his forehead pressed against the ground, Kurapika curled up, his crying no longer containable, and it escaped through the gaps between his arms. The sounds of insects chirping, birds singing, or other animals in the forest were drowned out by his loud weeping.
In a trance, Kurapika felt a warmth on his back—someone had placed a hand on his back.
It was like a spider silk lowered from the exit of hell.
Kurapika suddenly looked up.
When he saw the person clearly, the spider silk snapped with a "crack."
"Why are you here?!" Kurapika shouted, surprised and angry.
The other party had anticipated his question and placed the completed notebook in front of him.
【I know your destination, so I'm waiting for you here】
So there was no need to track Kurapika.
No, in fact, Mo'er had been tracking Kurapika all along, worried that something Kurapika couldn't handle might happen. Fortunately, nothing did. Kurapika possessed the luck of a protagonist and was also sufficiently intelligent. Although Kurapika was only 12 years old, he was precocious.
【I cannot prevent the "future," but I originally hoped to prevent you from coming here, to reduce your pain a little】
【Since you want to witness it with your own eyes, I will respect your choice】
Kurapika's gaze finally fixed on Mo'er's face, even though he couldn't see her expression.
"You didn't stop me because... because it has nothing to do with the 'future' you know." His lips trembled, "Right?"
Mo'er shook her head, then nodded.
【Due to this incident, the Scarlet Eyes will become the focus of the world for a time】
【Your situation as a "survivor" will be very precarious】
"...You know who the murderer is." Kurapika's tone was firm.
As the Scarlet Eyes fluctuated with his emotions, their color changed accordingly. The living Scarlet Eyes were more vibrant than fixed specimens, so Chrollo quickly lost interest in possessing the specimens.
【You will learn who they are from news reports】
"But you said you would 'appropriately' 'assist' me in 'revenge.'" Kurapika clenched his fists, "Then what will be the result of my revenge...?"
The reality of the genocide caused significant turmoil in Kurapika's heart, leading him to ask a question that was clearly meaningless.
Based on his understanding of Mo'er, Mo'er, who did not want to disrupt "destiny," would not give him a definite answer. Moreover, this question also proved...
【Don't you believe in "destiny"?】
Mo'er's retort struck Kurapika's weak point precisely.
A long silence.
The frozen expression of the 12-year-old boy collapsed into deep sorrow.
"I will question them face-to-face about their reasons for doing this."
"I will take revenge on them."
"This is my personal will."
Supporting himself on the ground with his hands, Kurapika arched his back, placed one hand on his knee, and slowly straightened up.
"I don't need any of your help." The goal of supporting Kurapika all the way home had been lost. He could only stand up by sheer willpower, his legs trembling powerlessly, but he still stubbornly forced them to continue working, "Please, don't disturb us. Please... leave here."
He couldn't fall yet; he had to bury his clansmen properly, to lay them to rest.
First, he needed tools to dig.
Mo'er quietly watched his snail-like pace of walking, and before he could fall to the ground, she reached out and caught him.
Kurapika instinctively resisted. When he raised his hand to push her away, the glimpse of a section of snow-white bandage on her wrist pained his eyes. His already exhausted resistance faltered, and he tacitly allowed her touch.
On the journey home, Kurapika had truly experienced the preciousness of strangers' kindness.
Perhaps he had misunderstood Mo'er; Mo'er was not as cold-blooded as he had imagined.
She would do "unnecessary" things.
She wouldn't completely disregard others' thoughts.
She was still a "human" with warmth.
"I'm sorry." This was the most sincere apology he had ever given. Kurapika realized that his previous attitude towards her had been somewhat excessive.
The other party, who was only supporting Kurapika's weight with her arm, responded with a hug at this moment.
Body heat is a strange thing. In freezing snow, one person alone is easily frozen to death, but if two people warm each other, they can survive for a longer time.
"...Thank you." His voice gradually relaxed, as did his body. He had long surpassed his limit, and his Scarlet Eyes faded back to their deep brown hue. Kurapika felt his eyelids becoming incredibly heavy.
Mo'er gently patted his back, like a mother's tender caress. The familiar sense of security made Kurapika's spirit increasingly precarious.
But he didn't want to sleep yet; he still had unfinished business. He couldn't abandon his clansmen and sleep alone.
Kurapika struggled one last time.
Perhaps it was due to his lack of strength, or perhaps as repayment for this warmth, Kurapika ultimately surrendered his trust and fell into a deep sleep.
After Kurapika's breathing stabilized, Mo'er slowly let out a sigh of relief.
The wound on her wrist, bitten by Kurapika, had long since healed, but since the injury shouldn't be in vain, she continued to wrap it with bandages, hoping the "injured" label would serve some purpose.
Picking up Kurapika, Mo'er stood up, as if she had just watched a game cutscene, shaking her head with only a slight sigh. After all, this was a plot she already knew. In the entire anime world, "genocide" plots were not uncommon, and she wasn't exactly a fan of the original character, Kurapika, so her emotions settled down quickly.
Dusty and hoarse from crying, Kurapika's appearance was undoubtedly disheveled. The dust on his face, washed away by tears, left behind crisscrossing streaks of gray, perfectly embodying the phrase "his face was streaked with tears."
Snot, tears, dust, dirt, you're dirtying my clothes, Mo'er couldn't help but think.
If it weren't for his good looks, Mo'er might not have wanted to hold him anymore.
Yes, one of the reasons Mo'er didn't want to have children was that she disliked them. She always felt that human children were unknown beings whose thought processes were incomprehensible.
Holding Kurapika, Mo'er walked towards the outside of the village. Along the way, she paused briefly and tilted her head to look at the headless corpse of a child.
Pairo's body had been moved. She thought the Phantom Troupe must have used it as a prop to trigger the Scarlet Eyes of other Kurta people.
Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?
The murderer of Pairo is right here.
Kurapika, you are currently lying in the murderer's arms.
Mo'er thought with a hint of malicious glee.
Mels's affection for Kurapika has increased.
Currently, Mels's total affection for Kurapika is: 1