Episode 132: The Immortal-Killing Pilgrim

This was the beginning of the woman called Balor.

—And the record of the journey she took before she met him.

Born into Mythologia, the first sight I ever laid eyes on was a chapel where people lay in rows.

Having been forbidden from seeing anything since the moment of my birth, the first view permitted to me was a cold one: a dark, leaden sky.

I had spent my life listening only to the voices of the world, and I still remembered the moment my blindfold was first removed. Everyone who entered my field of vision collapsed, falling into a slumber with strange, peaceful expressions.

"You were born to put an end to immortality," the maid who always attended to me explained.

She told me that I possessed a Scripture—a god from another world named Balor, a being who possessed a Magic Eye that scattered death.

"You are the hope that grants us death."

In my youth, I knew nothing of what death actually was. Perhaps that was why I accepted it. I believed that granting death was my permitted role, and so I spent every day dealing it out to others.

Living in a world where my eyes were usually sealed, my days were spent witnessing only the serene faces of people as they fell. It was my normal. It was my daily life. I was always killing someone.

"Ah, Holy Lady. Please, grant me an end."

I would look upon those who made such pleas and see them off as they collapsed and were carried away.

"Finally, I can die. I won't have to suffer anymore."

I offered prayers for those who fell with peaceful faces, watching them shed the tears I had only ever read about in books.

"Thank you, thank you... I don't have to live anymore."

I never doubted it. It was natural. I believed I was doing something important.

I lived in a temple with only my maid for company, occasionally opening my eyes to see someone through to their end. I thought those days would continue forever.

"Holy Lady, I can no longer remain by your side."

"Why?" I asked.

My world consisted only of darkness and her voice. I hated the thought of that voice disappearing; my own voice trembled instinctively.

"I can think of nothing but you. I cannot endure this immortality any longer."

That was the first time I learned of the Immortality Disease.

It was a curse that had plagued my home region since ancient times. People spoke of it as a "blessed illness" that fulfilled humanity’s long-standing desire for perpetual youth and longevity—an escape from the end that was death.

Apparently, my role was to treat it. No, that wasn't right. My role was to end it.

I wondered why. If it was humanity’s grandest wish, why was I meant to stop it?

The kind woman answered my silent question. She told me that immortality was simply too heavy a burden for a human to carry.

"Forgive me for leaving you alone. You may curse me for being foolish enough to leave your gentle soul behind, but please... put an end to the Immortality Disease."

Then, she removed my shackles as she always did.

For the first time, I saw an expression I didn’t recognize. It was fundamentally different from the faces of the people I had seen off before. Something about it made me ache.

"I was happy during the three hundred years I spent with you. I shouldn't have let it happen, but it felt as though I had gained a family. These are memories I will never forget. You have my gratitude."

And then, she hugged me.

With a body that was already failing, she held me tight and stroked my hair, whispering her thanks.

"I love you, Lady Balor. Please... do not forgive me for leaving you with this curse."

That was my final memory of her. It was the story of my parting with the precious, nameless woman I called mother—the one who had guided and raised me.

After that, I lived alone in the temple.

I could read thanks to the power of the Scripture, so I relied on the archived books to gain knowledge about the Immortality Disease. I saw off the immortals who arrived at the end of their long travels, and through them, I learned of the suffering in the outside world. To fulfill a promise I had made once before, I finally stepped outside and began my own journey.

I wore my precious maid's clothes and hid my nature as a god-like monster. I listened to people’s stories, saw them through to their deaths, and more than anything, I touched death itself.

I heard people speak of the fear of death, but I also learned that it was something precious. It only made me hate the Immortality Disease more—and hate myself, who could do nothing but end lives.

I was a monster who could only be alone. A monster who could do nothing but take.

I learned of stories, I learned of people, and through my travels, I learned the value of life.

I also learned of the existence of Angels—messengers of God meant to save, lead, and help humanity as their neighbors. I hated them most of all. If they were saviors, why did they allow the immortals to exist? If they were meant to lead and help, why didn't they save those who had been robbed of the ability to die?

"Thank you. Finally, I can go to where everyone else is. Thank you so much."

On that day, I saw another person off. He was a nameless young man. He told me he had lived for a hundred and fifty years; there was no one left alive who even knew his name.

"Big sister, I'm sorry for leaving you all alone. But... thank you."

The next one was a child from a village where I had happened to stay for a few decades. He was a kind boy who had spent all his time with me. Perhaps it was because of how long we had been together, but his words stuck in my chest.

What is this? I was used to being alone. My job was to see the immortals off. So why, from that day on, had it become so hard to breathe?

I never found the cause of the Immortality Disease. No matter how much I searched, who I asked, or what I investigated, the answer eluded me.

I traveled. I saw them off. I lived. I searched. I walked alone.

"Come to think of it... when was the last time I actually ate a meal with someone else?"

The question occurred to me out of nowhere. For some reason, as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I shouldn't have thought them.

It was an unconscious slip. I knew that if I acknowledged that thought, I would surely break.

I understood how humans lived. Even in my isolation, I remembered the sound of laughter. I had heard time and again that those with the Immortality Disease couldn't handle the loneliness.

I knew. I knew it all too well.

I'm the one who's broken. I'm not human. I haven't been human since the moment I was born with this Scripture. It's only natural that I have to endure this. This is my role. I have to save them.

"It’s lonely, isn't it?"

I knew those words. That was why I hated them. I had tried so hard not to say them. I knew I wasn't allowed to.

Ah, why?

"Why did God ever give me life?"

I didn't want this power. To grant death to others was arrogant and cruel. I never wanted such a cold, unkind gift.

I didn't want to know what loneliness felt like. If I was going to feel this way, I never should have gone on a journey. I never should have involved myself with people.

These eyes, this power, this version of me... I wished it would all just disappear.

If I crushed them, would something change? If I didn't have these eyes anymore, would the pain stop? Ah, that sounds wonderful.

I found a place where I could be alone and took out a knife meant for cutting food. I pointed it at the eyes I hated most.

In that exact moment, someone fell from the sky and landed right in front of me.

"Where the hell am I?"

"You! Don't look at me!" I screamed.

"Wait, what? My bad?"

"Why... why aren't you dead?"

"Huh? Am I being insulted right now?"

That was how I met him.

That was the beginning of my life with the young man named Reima—the one to whom I would eventually devote my entire existence.