NOVPUBNevertheless, several "pathways" had been blocked. No new ones had been created recently. This showed how much security had been strengthened lately.
Despite Alonso’s words, Miguel just nodded his head as if honored, never losing his smile.
"Don’t worry too much. Somehow, there’s always a way, isn’t there?"
"..."
Alonso knew that his optimism was recent. After nearly dying several times from his master’s abuse, he had brightened dramatically since meeting Alonso.
On the surface, it was because Alonso was known as a priest who was kind to slaves, so Miguel could get free time and pocket money under the pretext of escorting him.
And in reality... it was more than that.
Miguel had revived from a near-death state after hearing about the "pathways" from Alonso. He had even become more diligent in his work.
Pleased with this, his master often entrusted Miguel to Alonso, and others also requested that their slaves meet Alonso.
They didn’t know why their slaves had suddenly become so vibrant.
They too were ignorant.
Anyway, as Alonso and Miguel walked, they soon stiffened their faces.
Shouts and sobbing.
Dozens of Africans were trembling in a line in front of the square. Around them, more than a dozen people walked around with guns and swords.
The vigilante group.
I, I, I didn’t do anything!
Please call my master!
Many slaves trembled in fear or groaned. The vigilante members occasionally lightly kicked slaves whose posture slumped or shouted to maintain an oppressive atmosphere.
Following the governor’s orders, they would confiscate slaves’ possessions or beat them during such "inspections."
Even the masters of these slaves were either intimidated by the vigilante members’ actions or had joined them, so there was no one to stop them.
Most of them were drunk in broad daylight. They probably had been drinking heavily since the previous night.
Alonso kept his gaze lowered as he hurried with Miguel toward the cathedral. He bowed his head, feeling the gazes of several slaves directed at him.
Then...
"I was sent on an urgent errand! This item isn’t mine, it’s my master’s! Please let me..."
A blade flashed.
A slave who was protesting the inspection screamed. When Miguel and Alonso turned toward the scream, they saw a slave being beaten and crying.
It seemed someone had drawn a sword and was threatening a slave. As the slave curled up into a ball to avoid having his possessions taken, the vigilante members surrounded him and mocked him.
After a while, when the slave still didn’t hand over the item, their laughter subsided.
When more time passed and the slave still didn’t give up, irritation crept into their voices.
They started kicking instead of punching. The man coughed up blood.
"Wait, just a moment!"
All eyes turned to Alonso. Alonso shouted, withstanding the fierce gazes of the vigilante members.
"That slave often runs errands for his master. I know that master well. So..."
"Father."
"..."
"Leave."
The vigilante members muttered among themselves. Who is this guy? Oh, you know, that priest who preaches not to beat slaves. Ah, that one.
Momentarily hesitating as dozens of gazes glared at him, Alonso turned his head when he felt someone grabbing his arm.
"F-F-Father."
It was Miguel. His face was terrified. He whispered:
"What if they harm you, Father? If that happens..."
"..."
While Alonso hesitated, there was suddenly a slicing sound. Turning his head urgently, he saw a knife stabbed into the back of the man who had been crouching until just a moment ago.
"..."
Alonso’s eyes wavered.
Seeing his wavering eyes, the vigilante members seemed confused and said to the man who had drawn the knife: Hey, what if you kill him? What if the master demands compensation? The man with the knife replied:
Then... we’ll compensate.
And he gave Alonso what seemed like a mocking smile.
Feeling as if his blood was rushing backward, Alonso tried to walk toward him. Miguel grabbed him again. He whispered:
Father, please think of me and the other slaves, please.
"..."
Alonso’s fist clenched and then relaxed. The man with the knife tried to resume the inspection, leading the vigilante members.
Alonso felt cold sweat on his forehead. The first time is difficult, but from the second and third times, even killing becomes easier. And what he had just witnessed was the first killing during an "inspection" he had seen.
They would soon become accustomed to killing. They would laugh it off, saying it’s fine to kill another’s slave as long as they "compensate." They would no longer be surprised...
...This can’t go on.
"F-Father?"
Ignoring Miguel’s voice, Alonso approached the man with the knife. He was threatening and harassing a female slave with his knife.
This time, his colleagues didn’t even try to stop him. Judging by that, the woman seemed to be someone’s slave among them. When the man shrugged, someone even burst into laughter.
"Stop."
And.
Alonso, approaching the vigilante members, said:
Cold, refined anger was frozen in every syllable.
"You aren’t even contributing to stopping the rebellion. You’re just killing people to vent your anger and causing pain. You are..."
"Didn’t I tell you to leave earlier?"
The man with the knife glared at Alonso. Alonso pulled the arm of the woman who had just been threatened, drawing her behind him, and replied:
"Didn’t I... tell you to stop earlier?"
Alonso answered, clenching his fist.
The faces of the vigilante members hardened.
The faces of the ignorant hardened.
Alonso thought:
They are foolish.
They think they can control people through fear.
Alonso glared at those ignorant ones.
And he looked at the slaves beyond them.
Those terrified, those who couldn’t even resist the violence that suddenly befell them.
...No, they aren’t terrified.
They are...
Half-drunk vigilante members approached Alonso, hiccupping. All sorts of vulgar curses flowed from their mouths.
The slaves watched the scene, terrified. Surely, surely they wouldn’t harm the priest. Surely they wouldn’t harm him...
And, one of the drunk vigilante members struck the back of Alonso’s head.
Thud.
He held a blood-stained hammer in his hand.
The vigilante members, who had only intended to scare the priest a bit, approached him in surprise. Hey, are you crazy? Harming a priest? Do you know what you’ve done!
The man with the hammer staggered and grinned. That bastard... made me angry... The slave guys are disrespecting us... We need to scare them like this so they’ll listen to us...
They were ignorant ones.
Their conversation wasn’t completed.
Thwack!
The man with the hammer widened his eyes for a moment and then touched the back of his head. Blood came out.
As he turned his gaze, Miguel, who had thrown a stone, was rushing toward him with bare fists.
When other vigilante members hurriedly tried to stop Miguel, other slaves rushed in.
They were ignorant ones.
They believed that fear governs people.
They believed that slaves obeyed them because of fear.
They were wrong.
The slaves no longer saw fear.
They saw Alonso, fallen and bleeding. They saw the overturned path to escape.
They saw the priest who had been preaching to slave owners not to abuse their slaves. They saw the person who had been like their last lifeline.
People cannot live without hope for life.
The vigilante members still didn’t know this and only saw dozens of slaves rushing at them.
They were ignorant.
The governor of Florida, the man with the knife, the man with the hammer—all were terribly ignorant about people.
Crack! Thwack! Crunch!
...They would probably remain ignorant forever.
