It probably wasn’t on Fuuka’s mind, even now. All he did was love his brother and protect him.
“I was the one who broke the promise.”
They heard Tamuramaro approaching from behind. When Sora turned back to him, he could see that the commander’s whole being was brimming with an inescapable anger and grief, as if his blood were boiling too furiously to be contained.
The mound of corpses that Fuuka had thoughtlessly created was this man’s soldiers. Sora had seen how they had admired their leader and the way they addressed him with respect.
“So kill me. Please let your revenge end there,” Tamuramaro implored the brothers, whose white robes were drenched in blood.
“My brother…”
—might be a demon. The words almost escaped Sora, but he swallowed them. He couldn’t let Fuuka hear that.
“I will take Fuuka. He comes with me.” Sora took the sword in Fuuka’s hand.
For the first time, Sora saw his brother as a fire that could cut down a multitude in a flash, even without any malice. If Fuuka thought nothing of killing, something could easily trigger him again to remorselessly take another multitude of lives.
Even if his fire was turned on enemies or used for revenge, Fuuka’s truly unfaltering blade was not something that should exist within the reason of any human society. It had no place within the laws of government, either, which Sora was still resisting.
Sora loved his brother and cherished him dearly. But that was why he couldn’t let him do this. He mattered to Sora more than anyone else.
“Let’s go together. Right, Fuuka?”
“I’ll go anywhere, if it’s with you.”
Sora looked at Fuuka, who was grinning as if they’d just been playing a game. Tamuramaro stood watching the pair, transfixed.
“Close your eyes, then.”
“Okay.”
Fuuka always obeyed his big brother, if no one else. He closed his eyes tightly, still smiling—still stained in the blood of countless people.
At least I can make it quick—no suffering—by my own hand. Sora gripped the hilt of the sword and pulled Fuuka into an embrace.
Tamuramaro couldn’t say anything to stop him. He had just witnessed too many of his soldiers lose their lives in an instant.
“Fuuka.” Sora said his brother’s name one last time.
“Allll righty, then. Hold up, hold up. Don’t be hasty, kids.”
A voice rang out, androgynous and airy—not Tamuramaro’s, not the soldiers’, and definitely not fitting for the sordid air wafting from the execution ground.
Sora froze. He was still holding the hilt of the sword tightly, ready to die with Fuuka, but he couldn’t move a muscle.
“Who was that?” Fuuka laughed. Perhaps he didn’t understand that his brother had nearly killed him just then. As Tamuramaro had said, he was still a child, so there was much he couldn’t comprehend.
Tamuramaro’s blade remained sheathed as the commander stared hard at the vaguely familiar figure. They were neither like a man nor a woman, nor even a human being.
Sora was too overwhelmed to notice anyone else around him.
“Uhhh, I’m Miroku-bosatsu, or you might know me as Maitreya Buddha. Been around for a while, actually. Don’t you know me?”
The figure was obscured from view, wreathed in a strange, white light. The middle finger and thumb on one of their hands touched to make a circle, and the rest of the fingers were held near their right cheek.
“How…long…have you been here?” Sora rasped, barely able to speak. He had misunderstood and thought they meant they had witnessed the whole massacre.
“From before this world began, I reckon. What do you think of this vestment? Looks good on me, doesn’t it?”
Now that they mentioned it, speaking with otherworldly nonchalance, Sora noticed that they were wrapped in an ethereally beautiful robe made from a single layer of fabric.
“Yes…it does. But who are you?”
“…Miroku-bosatsu. Haven’t you ever heard of me?”
“Don’t argue,” Tamuramaro whispered to Sora.
“No worries, no worries. I’m not the type to deal out divine retribution and punishment and whatnot.”
“Then what do you do?” asked Fuuka openly.
Miroku-bosatsu kept smiling and gazing into Fuuka’s eyes. “Well, you see, I take you humans to the Pure Land. My job is to help you pass and rest in peace. I suddenly found a lot of work to do here, so I just came flying over,” they remarked lightly, looking back toward the valley.
“…Please guide them to the Pure Land, then. All of them.” Tamuramaro bowed deeply for the sake of his fallen men. “Those soldiers are very dear to me. Many of them I trained up myself.”
Sora listened to Tamuramaro’s strained voice, unable to move.
“Then please take us with you as well,” said Sora. He knew what it meant to pass into the Pure Land. In the north, the culture and religion of the Imperial side were already blending into their native belief of the forest. They were building shrines, seemingly overwriting their old beliefs.
“Certainly. I’ll take care of the people in that valley. But you two are still alive… You can’t just ask me to do that, you know.”
“How can we go to the Pure Land, then?” Sora asked in all seriousness. The floating figure was clearly not of this world, however casual their manner was.
“Um, let’s see. First of all, I’m born when the human life span becomes 84,000 years, and there’s no more robbery, famine, and war in this world.”
“Isn’t that…impossible…?” Sora asked solemnly.
Whether they were joking or telling the truth, Miroku-bosatsu laughed.
“And preach the teachings of Buddha three times.”
“Three times?! That’s too much,” cried Fuuka, shaking his head violently. That was far too long to listen to a preacher.
“And you’d also have to wait for 5,670,000,000 years.”
“I can’t wait that long for robbery, famine, and war to end,” said Tamuramaro firmly.
“Well then, you go ahead without waiting,” Miroku-bosatsu replied with a generous smile. “If anyone can do it, you can. Now, what shall we do about you…?”
In a moment, Miroko-bosatsu had drawn closer to the bloodstained brothers. They hummed, as if they were facing a conundrum, and peered at the boys intently.
“Sometimes it happens. A person who single-handedly kills a multitude is born into this world,” they said with a sigh. “About one in a hundred years.”
Sora gulped. “How many is a ‘multitude’?” He couldn’t help asking, though he thought the people Fuuka had just killed in a matter of seconds were already a “multitude” enough.
“A whole village, for example, or a city, or a nation, or a race. Or all who follow a different religion.”
Miroku-bosatsu’s voice was gentle, but Sora was horrified to imagine the scale of the “multitude” he was describing.
“Easily a hundred times more people than those killed today. You probably can’t even imagine it. Once in a long while, someone comes along who can do such a thing. They might be called different names, like Asura, or Yaksha, or the Devil, but they all do the same thing.”
Miroku-bosatsu watched closely as the red faded from Fuuka’s eyes, then turned to Sora.
“That kind of person will end many lives, working all alone. The numbers are truly extreme, so it can’t be easily overlooked,” they went on, never ceasing to smile.
“Alone…?”
“Yes. There will likely be more to come in the future, too.”
“But why is that? Does the power come from bad karma? If it does, could you absolve it?” asked Sora.
“You don’t need power to kill. You need intention. To will and to believe.”
“What…what belief guides them to kill?” Sora felt like he was clutching at straws—perhaps Fuuka wouldn’t do anything like that again if he could only dispel the source of that belief.
“That power of belief is no small matter. If you’d like to call it karma, the force of their belief is the weight of their karma. They were born with the fate of holding a fierce belief.”
Miroku-bosatsu looked at Sora with a gentle expression. Then, meeting Fuuka’s eyes, they tilted their head to one side.
“Fuuka, is it? Is that really your true name?”
“Mm-hmm. I’m Sora’s little brother, Fuuka.”
Sora felt a pang in his heart to hear Fuuka’s innocent voice. Could it be me Fuuka believes in so much?
“In that case…”
We have no choice but to leave this world, fate and all, Sora thought.
“Now, now, don’t be rash, I tell you. Do you mean to end your life here, boy, and waste your wisdom and intelligence?”
It took some time for Sora to register that Miroku-bosatsu’s words were meant for him.
“Are you going to stay like that?”
“What…do you mean?” Sora wasn’t following at all.
“Actually, I don’t usually see those who kill multitudes in the first place. What a peculiar encounter we’re having.” Miroku-bosatsu’s fingers still formed that circle. “Now, is this nothingness,4 or infinity? Or, in fact, a beginning? Or perhaps—”
Instead of finishing the sentence, they unfurled their fingers, opening the circle.
“Wha…? Huh?! F-Fuuka?!”
Their finger was pointing to where Fuuka had been standing just a moment ago—except now a little puppy with sleek, white fur sat plump on the ground.
“Coo?”
“He can’t kill a multitude if he’s a dog. As long as he turns into a dog in front of other people—problem solved. That’s that, then,” Miroku-bosatsu announced brightly, and took a good, long stretch.
“Wait a second. But…please let us die as humans, at least!!” Sora begged, rushing toward Miroku-bosatsu before they could take off.