Before Zeroy could step closer, Patchouli hurriedly downed a potion, steadying herself.
When she looked again, Zeroy's expression was even more innocent.
"Why such a big reaction? I already said I'd kill 700 million. This was only three million."
"I..."
Patchouli opened her mouth, but no reason came.
Meeting a god… what words could suffice?
Why react so strongly? Because before, Zeroy's numbers, no matter how serious, were only words—language paled against action and sight. Even if Patchouli believed, it could never compare to witnessing.
She had survived witch hunts, seen men and monsters slaughter each other. Yet this still terrified her.
Truly terrified her.
Hell itself looked gentler than this.
"My... my problem."
After a moment, Patchouli calmed herself.
"How many people remain in that city?"
As a magician, she bore humans no ill will—but no special goodwill either. At best, indifferent.
She wasn't gentle or sympathetic. She never harmed people; however, she wouldn't save one attacked by a monster unless it interested her.
Despite that, before Zeroy, she kept asking after humanity.
Perhaps because—even if not the same race—they were all living beings.
"About 100,000."
"100,000? Why so few?"
It wasn't criticism—she lacked the right or the temperament. Pure disbelief.
"I already said, the city was small, but criminals were countless. Maybe culture, maybe the near-apocalypse."
"Perhaps your standards are too strict?"
"I considered that." Zeroy shook her head. With lives at stake, she wasn't careless.
"So I tested beforehand. The ratio really is that high. And I even relaxed my standard. Petty theft with no harm, conscience intact—I punished, but didn't behead."
"I see..."
Patchouli fell silent again.
…Perhaps this was fitting: evil meeting evil's bane.
She glanced at the corpse tower. Its sight shook reason itself.
"Why pile them into a tower?"
They weren't in the city—this was wilderness. Zeroy had gathered the corpses herself, hauling them here to stack into the dreadful tower.
"The survivors couldn't handle the bodies. And..." Zeroy sighed, weary. "Stacking them here is deterrence. Better to stop vermin from spawning than punish later."
"Fine." Very like her style.
Cold as a machine when killing. Warm as spring sunlight when helping. In their time together, Patchouli saw it clearly: Zeroy had a good nature, slow to anger.
Patchouli, for the first time, showed true concern. "But... are you really alright?"
"What do you mean?"
"Slaughtering so many… doesn't it taint your heart?"
"No. Because I kill vermin, not people. Why feel guilt? I'm not sentimental enough to mourn insects." Zeroy arched a brow, teasing. "You don't count the insects you step on, right?"
"But they're intelligent. The act itself… taking life—"
"Ah..." Zeroy interrupted, then sighed. "I feel nothing. Maybe the Main God reshaped my mind. I think like a war machine. No feelings when killing."
"The Main God does that..."
"My case is special. How did you enter the Main God Space?"
"I was invited. A chance to go to another world. Others too."
"Different, then. I died, woke in the Main God Space."
"Such a thing..."
Anyhow, neither pressed further.
"Anyway…" Zeroy suddenly looked pitiful. "Help me with your magic, Patchouli. I feel too slow killing vermin."
Patchouli twitched. "Three million in seven days… and too slow?"
"No, too slow."
In Highschool of the Dead, thirteen days had killed only two million zombies. Now she'd killed three million in seven days.
That said, she was far stronger now. Fourteen days, and she could slay tens of millions. Maybe more.
So three million in seven days—it was indeed slow.
...
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