Chapter 45: Sacrifice

  Justinian looked in confusion at the strange man before him. What surprised him wasn't the fact that he was dressed in Sarmatian robes - even more lavish than Rudnicki's own - or the fact that a two-meter-tall rooster was curiously watching him.

  The real reason was slightly different.

  "These are your observations on justice, which you contemplated upon reaching the first mark of ki gathering," Twardowski smiled.

  What was shocking to the boy was the fact that the strange devil mentioned justice without any hesitation, which was, after all, a taboo word.

  "Are you not subject to the laws of this dimension?" he asked, to which the nobleman replied with a jovial smile.

  "Such are the privileges of old spirits who matter little anymore." There was a glint in his eyes as he added, "I am sure that madman from the first dimension has far more important problems on his mind than chasing after someone who breaks his verbal pedantries."

  It wasn't hard to guess that this madman was none other than the Ruler of Hell - the King of Names and Symbols. The boy froze slightly at these words - after all, his entire infernal adventure testified to how important blasphemies were here. Seeing what a powerful being he was talking to and—as he judged by the attire—a nobleman more important than Rudnicki, who had mentored him, Justinian immediately bowed to him in the Sarmatian manner.

  This, in turn, made Twardowski... laugh.

  "Hahaha, someone with such a character bowing in hell. The celestials would probably have a fit if they found out."

  Evidently, however, he seemed pleased that Justinian was observing the proper etiquette.

  "So, boy, ready for a short journey?" he added.

  The boy nodded, and after a moment, the world blurred again. A scene appeared in which he, along with Belisara, was helping Severin the Sarmatian XVI get engaged to Miss Wachowska. A moment later, there was also the scene of the start of the infernal games, where he won first place by sheer accident.

  "Well, you haven't added anything groundbreaking here. Just some reflections on justice, happiness, and changing customs - boring."

  Justinian was not too pleased with this comment - after all, these were the conclusions that formed his path, which he had thought and meditated on for a long time. Twardowski, of course, didn't much care for this, and soon the scene changed again.

  This time, it was Justinian's practice in court, his conversations with Franciszek about the nature of the system and whether it should be absolute. Finally, the boy's decision about his uncompromising view on justice also appeared.

  "I must admit, with a mentality like that, you'd probably kick ass among the celestials. Even here, however, the consistency of the character you've cultivated commands respect," the nobleman said with unfeigned admiration.

  "Meaning?" Justinian asked.

  Twardowski shrugged.

  "The more uniform a character is, focused on an absolute image of power and full of will - the more solid the foundations it creates. Your obsession with justice has created foundations based on the best soul stones."

  "And that about the... celestials?"

  "Patience. Sometimes even fantastic foundations can turn into terrible flaws." As he spoke, he waved his hand, and the scenes changed again. In this way, they soon watched all the conclusions and their causes that Justinian had written down in his notebook.

  Outside, at the same time, crowds of devils watched as the adepts competed to achieve Foundation Stabilization. At the moment, both the whirlwinds of Felix Faustus and Septima were spinning very fast, fighting for the title of the largest tornado visible on the moon.

  Although Septima had dominated the lunar sky and her darkness stifled the possibility of other domains appearing, Felix's ashen ruin had not diminished in size by even a meter!

  Smaller, yet slightly more stable, seemed Justinian's hurricane, which was just now moving to the heart of the exam.

  Back with Justinian, in the spiritual dimension, the boy was transported to a completely new scenery. This time, he was the emperor of a powerful religious state. He ruled over millions of people, and his capital city alone was inhabited by 500,000 residents.

  Moreover, he also honored the glory of his ancestors and had gained immense territories for his empire that had once been lost. All this had earned him the epithet "the Great."

  At the same time, he tried to exercise power with care for justice and even brought about the codification of laws, which was intended to improve the lot of the common folk.

  'What magnificent power one man can wield,' the boy thought, looking down on everything with the eyes of a monarch.

  "If you only wish it, it can be yours," spoke Twardowski's voice somewhere in the depths of his mind.

  Without a doubt, it was an incredibly tempting proposition. With this man's strength, he could certainly see his revenge through to the end. He could return to the kingdom of peace and help many people.

  Heck, he could even stay in hell and try to reform it so that its inhabitants could live much better.

  'However, that is only one side of the coin...' he concluded.

  His empire, though powerful, was not built on solid foundations. The common people were crushed under the heavy boot of high taxes so that he could fulfill his imperial dreams.

  Moreover, while the supposed law had been written down, there were still certain groups that were clearly exempt from it. The people did not live well, and the system's inconsistency with one of his reflections on justice was covered up by great games meant to distract from the problem.

  'It is precisely this kind of system that leads to the tragedies of people like Zonik,' Justinian thought. 'And it is precisely such systems I have sworn to fight. I could not be satisfied with this,' he concluded.

  As soon as he expressed his thoughts, the scene changed, and he found himself in completely new circumstances—also featuring the great achievements of an individual, but always somehow inconsistent with his contemplations from the notebook of sins and transgressions.

  "In that case, what about your revenge? I can give you the power to make it a reality," Twardowski proposed temptingly.

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  In an instant, the scene changed, and now the boy saw himself killing cultists in a cloak with the symbol of a nail piercing three eyeballs. Revenge brought him a sweet satisfaction he couldn't get enough of, and his power continued to grow.

  Soon it was so great that it began to tempt him to use it in other ways...

  "No!" Justinian shouted.

  What he sought was justice. He didn't want power only to lose himself in it and kill innocents.

  Therefore, he could not accept it. He simply wouldn't have changed anything that way—his entire journey from the orphanage to his current place would have been worthless.

  With each subsequent scene, however, he felt weaker and weaker.

  "Do you see what I see?" Boruta asked his subordinate, Eusebius, outside.

  The latter, a little disappointed, nodded his head.

  "The tornado has begun to consume the boy. If he doesn't react quickly, he won't survive this stabilization trial," he replied.

  The old voivode, in anger, slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne.

  "This is all the fault of that damned Emptyhead!" he hissed.

  In current times, for devils, the most difficult part of the foundation stabilization ritual was gathering the resources and communicating with the spirit of the dimension. What they had to do afterward was mostly symbolic, as the echoes of warriors in the technique stones prepared them well.

  'However, the kid's strong foundation is his greatest curse in this case...' Boruta thought.

  The sacrifice that had to be made during this ritual was nothing other than renouncing a part of the cultivated character. For Justinian, this would mean acknowledging that the world he is fighting for will never come to be. Acknowledging that the orphanage with the leaky roof and Zonik, whose life depends on the will of the good Sister Teresa, is an unavoidable necessity.

  Hence, the boy was suspended in a phase between gathering ki and foundation stabilization, with the tornado wounding him more and more.

  "If nothing changes, he will soon die."

  In the spiritual dimension, Justinian had already noticed that something was wrong. He felt his strength leaving him and soon... he saw skin with pieces of flesh starting to fall from his hands and body.

  'What the hell is this?!' he thought, terrified.

  Then, a soft sigh spread through the dimension.

  "This is the essence of the ritual—creating a spiritual heart and achieving foundation stabilization requires renouncing a part of the character you formed during your earlier cultivation," Twardowski's words resounded. "Your absolute pursuit, which accepts no compromises, is nothing other than the cause here, with death being the subsequent effect."

  Justinian remained silent. The spirit showed him his entire path. Every decision, every moment of hesitation, and every moment of triumph.

  He saw himself as he furiously sentenced the guilty to harsh punishments and as he tried to help others with naive hope. All of it formed a single, coherent image—the image of a man striving for true justice for all.

  "I'm supposed to renounce it now? Sacrifice some part?"

  Which one? Perhaps the one that made him stand up for the weaker, like when he saved Aldona? Or maybe the one that forced him to mete out harsh punishments for crimes committed, regardless of the perpetrators' origins?

  Each of these parts was him. Each was essential.

  'If I give up any of them...' he thought, and an image appeared before his eyes of corrupt devils, nobles amusing themselves at the expense of others, and rulers for whom the law was just a tool. '...I will never change anything. I will become part of the system I want to fight.'

  That thought was worse than death to him. It was a negation of everything he believed in. It was a slap in the face to the memory of Sister Teresa and his brother.

  He raised his gaze to Twardowski, who had materialized nearby with his giant rooster. The terror in the boy's eyes slowly gave way. Only a coldness and determination that would have terrified many a devil remained.

  "No," he said quietly, but firmly.

  Twardowski raised an eyebrow.

  "No?"

  Justinian straightened up. He felt his spiritual form gain strength, fueled by his own stubbornness.

  "I will sacrifice nothing. My path is singular. Justice that knows no compromises. Justice that is equal for all—for devil and for man, for king and for beggar. This is my foundation and my path."

  Twardowski looked at him in silence for a moment, after which a sad, ironic smile appeared on his face.

  "Brave words, boy. Very brave. Let's see where they take you, then." He waved his hand, and the rooster behind him crowed protractedly, as if mocking his youthful hubris.

  On the moon, in dimension 66, the observing devils froze in shock. The third, smallest whirlwind so far, belonging to the human adept, suddenly exploded with fury! Within seconds, its size began to grow, matching the powerful tornadoes of Felix Faustus and Septima. The gale it generated was so strong that it began to affect the surroundings, hurling rock fragments for hundreds of meters.

  "What the hell is going on?!" Boruta shouted, jumping to his feet.

  "Impossible! How on earth does this boy have such a powerful will?!" seconded Eusebius, whose face lost its stoic calm for the first time in a long while.

  It seemed the impossible had become possible. That a mortal, stubborn in his beliefs, was able to challenge the most powerful talents of the young generation of devils. For a moment, his tornado even seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

  However, the moment of triumph was short-lived. Just as suddenly as the tornado had grown in strength, it just as suddenly began to turn against its creator.

  The colorless tornado, which had not even created its own domain, began to take on red, fiery hues. Instead of drawing power from its surroundings, it began to devour Justinian.

  From the outside, his figure at the center of the hurricane could be seen starting to burn. The fire tore the skin from him, revealing the muscles, and then burned them as well, leaving only blackened bones.

  A powerful sigh from a disappointed Twardowski seemed to echo across the moon, mingling with the howling of the wind.

  The same thing was happening in the spiritual dimension. Justinian's form was burning. The boy fell to his knees, writhing in agony. He looked at his disintegrating hands and felt his consciousness fading.

  'So this is the end...' he thought with resignation. 'Twardowski was right. My ambition and will have destroyed me.'

  He felt himself dying. He knew that his soul would soon shatter into pieces, and he himself would cease to exist.

  In that final moment, as darkness began to consume him, he also began to hallucinate.

  Before him, in the distance, stood Sister Teresa. She was holding the hand of a little boy—his brother, Zonik. They said nothing. They just looked at him with sadness. But it was not a sadness caused by his death. It was a sadness caused by his failure.

  'My death comes without justice for them...' the terrible truth struck him.

  This thought was like a blow from a bludgeon. Death now, at this moment, was not an honorable end in defense of his ideals. It was an escape. It was a surrender. It was an admission that the world was too strong, and he was too weak. It was the ultimate proof that the justice he fought for would never come. Death at this moment was just as bad as abandoning his ideals.

  He clenched his fists, ignoring the pain. He forced himself to look up.

  'No... Not yet.'

  A new glint appeared in his burning eyes. It was no longer the hubris and arrogance of a youth who wants to change the world. It was the cold, calculated determination of someone who had understood his place.

  He did not abandon his character. He did not sacrifice an iota of his faith in perfect, absolute justice. But he understood something else. He understood that he did not have the strength to impose it on the whole world. He could not right every wrong. But he could be just within his own sphere. He could punish those who had wronged his loved ones.

  He can look after his own fate and his own surroundings.

  'I am too weak to change even one hell,' he realized. 'But what is enough for me... is my own garden!'

  At the moment of this epiphany, the fire that consumed him suddenly went out. The tornado on the moon ceased to be deadly. However, it did not disappear.

  Instead, it began to spin like crazy... growing with each passing second!

  First, it reached its previous largest size, but it didn't stop there.

  "Impossible!"

  "What did the grim judge just do?!"

  The devils below shouted.

  Even the lords of the mountains, with Boruta at their head, rose from their seats of honor in shock. For not a long moment had passed before Justinian's tornado became significantly larger than those of Felix and Septima!

  "Why is it still growing?!"

  "Is... is that a domain?!"

  As Justinian's tornado expanded, the darkness surrounding the dimension also began to recede. In its place appeared a clear, cloudless sky that could not be disturbed by anything.

  All the devils on the moon began to feel a pressure that seemed to say that something absolutely terrifying was being born! What's more... its power was so great that even the adepts currently in the spiritual dimension felt it.

  "How is this possible?!" a bewildered Septima took a step back, becoming aware of the outside world.

  Disbelief and... a shadow of fear? began to paint themselves across her face.

  Just then, Justinian opened his eyes. The powerful hurricane began to shrink, to condense, until it took the form of a calm, several-dozen-meter-high pillar of pure, white light that cleansed the dimension of the remaining domains!

  In the center of this neutral light stood an untouched human.

  In his body, around his heart, a new, pulsating energy began to form. The five marks on his wrist connected, forming a complex symbol.

  The cultivation foundation of that man had been stabilized.