Chapter 439: Without Him, We Wouldn’t Be Alive!
Even Grandma Wanda, who had seen seventy winters and buried twice as many tragedies as anyone in the square, stood frozen with her wrinkled hand gripping her cane.
For a heartbeat she looked upon Cassius the same as all the rest, a monster painted in red, the butcher of their own kind.
But then her gaze wandered. Her eyes caught Nala standing just a few feet away, her granddaughter’s expression caught in the pale blue haze of moonlight.
Nala wasn’t trembling. She wasn’t recoiling or covering her mouth like the others.
Her face was utterly still, her eyes glimmering with something far deeper, something Wanda had never expected to see.
It wasn’t fear. It was something else that she couldn’t figure out. And her chest rose and fell slowly, as though she were seeing not horror, but revelation.
And that realization hit Grandma Wanda like a strike to the chest.
He hadn’t done it for pleasure, she realized. Not for cruelty’s sake.
Cassius had done all of this, for them.
For Nala.
For the village.
The men he slaughtered weren’t innocents; they were the same ones who had threatened to burn their houses, to take the women, to enslave the boys. He had simply gone farther than any of them could have, because no one else had the will.
Her old spine straightened. Her cane cracked sharply against the stone ground, echoing through the square like thunder.
"Enough!" She barked, voice cutting through the trembling air. "Quiet, the lot of you! Shut your mouths this instant!"
The villagers jolted, the murmurs dying in their throats as they turned toward the old matriarch.
"You fools." She said, her voice trembling not with fear, but anger. "You stand here trembling before him? Young Master Cassius did all this for us! For our homes, our boats, our children!"
"He dirtied his own hands so we wouldn’t have to. He faced the filth and the blood and the danger that the rest of us were too weak to face, and this is how you repay him? By shaking like rats? By looking at him like he’s the monster?...This is your gratitude?"
Her voice grew stronger with every word, fueled by decades of authority.
"Without him..." She said, stabbing the cane toward the blood-soaked ground. "...this village would be gone by now! Burned! Pillaged! Our families would be corpses, our homes turned to ash! You think your trembling honors that sacrifice? You think your fear is the thanks a savior deserves?"
Her words struck through the crowd like a whip.
The villagers stood silent, their eyes widening as the truth burned through the haze of horror. Faces that had been twisted with fear softened into something like shame. The realization spread, one by one, until even the strongest men bowed their heads.
Cassius had saved them. Brutal or not, monstrous or not—he had done what no one else could.
Slowly, the trembling ceased. The crowd steadied. Where moments ago they could barely breathe, now there was something else, respect. Gratitude. Even reverence.
And seeing this, Cassius blinked once, his head tilting slightly. He hadn’t expected that.
Their sudden shift startled him; he had thought their terror would last for days. Yet now they stared at him as though he were not their tormentor, but their guardian angel in scarlet.
He looked toward Grandma Wanda, his bloody face curving into a small, almost polite smile that made him look all the more terrifying.
"Thank you, Grandma Wanda." He said softly. "Thank you for clearing up that misunderstanding."
The old woman immediately bowed her head slightly, flustered.
"It’s nothing at all, Young Master Cassius." She said quickly. "Nothing at all. You did this for us, risked yourself for the sake of this little village. And yet we were the ones who cowered. Shameful, truly shameful...Please forgive us for that moment of weakness."
Cassius chuckled quietly, his eyes drifting back to the heap of lifeless men.
"You honor me too much, Grandma, I just did what I had to do. But tell me this..." He gestured toward the bloodstained horizon. "...when the other villages hear of what happened here, do you think they’ll take this lesson to heart? Or will they test our resolve again?"
The old woman frowned, tapping her cane as she thought.
"They’ll be frightened at first, no doubt. Terrified even...But desperation is a cruel thing, young master. It drives fools to their deaths. So yes, some might come again, sooner or later. Hunger makes beasts of men."
"That’s what I thought."
Cassius nodded slowly, as though he’d already expected that answer. He then turned to look at Nala.
"That’s what Nala thought as well, isn’t that right, Nala?"
But Nala didn’t answer. She stood still, her eyes fixed on him in a daze. It wasn’t terror in her stare, it was something deeper, unreadable.
Cassius tilted his head, confused, but chose not to press her. Instead, he turned back to Wanda.
"You don’t need to worry about that, Grandma. I’ll take care of it myself."
He walked toward Nala slowly, his boots squelching in the soaked dirt. Her eyes followed him the whole way, silent, transfixed.
When he reached her, he extended a hand.
"Nala." He said softly. "Can I have the fish back?"
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The fish, still slick and limp in her trembling grasp, dangled uselessly.
He watched her for a moment, then, with a mild shrug, reached out and took the fish from her limp hands. "Thank you." He murmured, though she gave no sign she heard him.
Turning, Cassius walked over and knelt beside Marcus’s mangled torso. His expression grew intent, almost serene.
And to the villagers’ fresh horror, he set the fish against the lower half of the body, positioning it carefully so that the slick, silver scales met the torn flesh. Then, from within his coat, he drew a small spool of black thread and a needle, prepared, precise, ready.
Gasps rippled through the villagers as he began to stitch. Each pull of the thread made a soft, wet sound...shrrrp...shrrrp...as skin met scale.
He worked meticulously, his bloody fingers moving with eerie grace. The headless human torso, the lifeless fish tail, slowly they became one grotesque shape, a deformed mockery of a mermaid.
By the time he lifted it up, the creation hung limply from his hands, dripping blood and water. It was hideous, headless, armless, a fleshy torso ending in a fish’s tail, swaying slightly in the breeze.
Cassius admired it for a moment, tilting it this way and that as if evaluating a piece of art.
Then his eyes flicked toward the last living boy who was barely a man—the one who hadn’t fainted but had soiled himself instead, still lying in the dirt with shaking legs.
"You." Cassius said sharply. "Get over here."
The boy flinched. "M-Me, master?"
"Yes, you. Move. Now."
The boy staggered to his feet, trembling so violently he nearly fell twice before reaching Cassius. He smelled of sweat and fear and filth.
"Hold onto this." Cassius said, thrusting the half-fish, half-man creation into his arms.
The boy let out a choked sound but obeyed instantly, clutching it in horror.
"Good." Cassius smiled faintly. "Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You’ll go to every nearby village. Every single one. You’ll show them what happened to Marcus, and you’ll tell them what will happen to anyone who dares lay a finger on this place again."
"Y-Yes, Master. I-I’ll do it." The boy swallowed hard.
Cassius then rubbed the golden ring on his finger, the storage ring that shimmered faintly, and drew out a small leather pouch. He tossed it to the man, who caught it clumsily. The sound of coins clinked inside.
"While you’re at it..." Cassius continued evenly. "...tell them the Holy Guard stands with the village. Tell them that the Leviathan will be dealt with soon. And tell them..." He smiled faintly. "...that I’ve given each village enough coin to last them a month. No need for hunger. No need for desperation. Only obedience."
The boy nodded frantically, eyes darting between Cassius’s calm smile and the dripping thing in his arms.
"You won’t try to run away with that money, will you?" Cassius tilted his head, voice softening almost to a purr.
The boy shook his head so violently his teeth clicked. "N-No, Master! Not at all! I’d never, I swear it, I’d never! I’m not that foolish!"
"Good answer. You’re a smart one." Cassius chuckled quietly. "The only reason you’re alive is because I can tell you’re new to their lot. You’ve not done much wrong yet. Keep it that way. Live honestly from now on."
"Y-Yes, Master! I swear it!"
"Good." Cassius gave a satisfied nod. "You’ve been given a second life. Don’t waste it."
He gestured outward. "Now go."
Without another word, the young man turned and bolted into the night, clutching the stitched monstrosity and the jingling pouch, running as though the devil himself followed.
Cassius watched him go, hands clasped behind his back. Then he sighed, half-smiling.
"That should be enough." He said aloud. "Enough to scare them senseless. They won’t dare try anything now. And they’ll have food too. A fair balance of fear and mercy."
He paused, glancing toward the horizon. Faint pillars of smoke rose in the distance, villages cooking or burning, it was hard to tell.
"Still..." He murmured. "...a little extra fear never hurts."
"Karno." He called, and the broad-shouldered man, who was one of the men Cassius had met in the tavern last night stepped forward shakily. "You see those smokes?"
"Y-Yes, Master Cassius..." Karno nodded nervously. "...those are nearby villages."
"Good." Cassius’s grin returned. "That’s all I needed to know."
He bent down, picked up what was left of a man’s torso and leg, and swung it once in a circle as though testing its weight.
Then, to the villagers’ utter disbelief—he hurled it at full speed to the distance.
The body soared like a cannonball, a red streak across the twilight. Moments later, distant screams echoed faintly from where it landed.
"Perfect throw." Cassius laughed softly.
He didn’t stop there. One by one he grabbed the remains, arms, legs, torsos—and launched them across the plains, each throw punctuated by another echoing shriek from some faraway village.
The people of his own village watched in stunned silence as the massacre was flung outward like a dark message to the world.
When no bodies remained, Cassius dusted his bloodied hands together.
"Hard work, but worth it." He turned toward Grandma Wanda, his grin strangely warm despite the gore. "That should be enough, don’t you think? Either now or later, no one will dare touch this place again."
The old woman bowed deeply, eyes glistening with reverence. "Truly...Truly, I am grateful, Young Master. There was no need for you to do all this, and yet you did. We owe you everything."
Cassius waved it off with a small laugh. "There’s no need for thanks, Grandma. We’re family now, aren’t we? Me, you, and Nala."
He turned to Nala, smiling faintly.
"Isn’t that right, Nala? Family?"
But Nala didn’t answer. She stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the crimson field, her face unreadable.
Cassius hesitated, then nodded slightly as though to himself, thinking of his own thoughts, before exhaling and brushing his blood-streaked hair back.
"Grandma Wanda..." He said calmly. "...is there somewhere I can wash? I’d rather not walk around like this. I’m covered head to toe."
The old woman snapped out of her thoughts.
"Of course, of course, Young Master. There’s a bathhouse down by the eastern edge, near the hot spring. Fed from the underground channels, it’s clean, and hot...Please, use it as long as you like."
"Much appreciated." Cassius smiled, bowing his head slightly.
And with that, he turned, walking through the square, his boots leaving red footprints that led away into the quiet dark.
Behind him, Grandma Wanda watched his back disappear, then turned to her granddaughter.
Nala hadn’t moved an inch and seeing this, a deep sigh escaped the old woman’s lips.
She prayed her granddaughter wasn’t frightened of him now. The thought twisted her heart, after everything Cassius had done for them, after the way he had shielded their home—it would be cruel if fear now stood between them.
She had dreamed of seeing the two together, of a marriage born from devotion and strength, not shadowed by horror.
But looking at Nala’s stillness, Wanda couldn’t tell whether it was awe or terror that held her frozen, and she feared that this day’s brutality might have driven a quiet wedge where love could have been...