He Who Fights with Monsters 10 (He Who Fights with Monsters, #10)

by Shirtaloon

There was a knock at the door and Neil opened it. On the other side was a priestess in the full robes of the Church of Fertility, with a cluster of young female acolytes behind her. “Sorry,” she said. “My god told me that Jason Asano was in here.”

“I am the High Priestess. I do not have a boss.” “You’re a high priestess,” Jason told her. “Your whole job is having a boss.”

“The greatest martial arts trainer my world ever produced was asked by one of his students why he showed mercy to an enemy. He said that for a person with no forgiveness in their heart, living is a worse punishment than death.”

“When two sides hate each other,” Gary said, “there’s never going to be peace until someone lets go of that hate. There will always be reasons to hold on to it—good reasons—but then nothing changes. But it can’t be one-sided, or it won’t work. It can start with one side, but the other still has to meet them halfway.

They’re basically evil fruit. Like broccoli.” “Broccoli is not a fruit,” Gary pointed out. “Exactly,” Jason said. “Imagine delicious chunks of pineapple, dusted with cinnamon and salt, and then roasted until they’re caramelised and tender before having a little bit of lime squeezed over them. Now imagine what you get instead is broccoli. That’s what messengers are.” “Please tell me that pineapple thing is what you’re making for lunch.” “No, I’m cooking broccoli.” “What?” “See? They’re the worst.”

She plucked a plate with a large sandwich out of the air and set it on the table between them. “A delicious sandwich,” she said. “Do you really think that this will get me to come around?” “Yes.” “You think I’m that easy?” “Yes.” “It’s going to take more than some conversation with a smart and stupidly gorgeous woman to win me over. Also a sandwich.” “A delicious sandwich. And no, it won’t.” “That’s absurd.” “Yes. But you like absurd, don’t you?” “No. Yes.” He ran a hand over his face. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered as he reached for the sandwich.

“Also, he wasn’t just aggressive in that negotiation,” Emir chimed in. “I’m not the only one who felt that was a little flirty, right?” “Oh, he’s always like that,” Neil called out from the back. “You should see him with Clive’s wife.” “Oh, gods damn it, Neil…”

The inside of the shaft was dark, the previous red glow no longer lighting up the bottom. The coppery tang of blood had gotten much stronger. “Do we go down there?” Clive asked. “There are stairs, but I do not want to go down there.” “Are you scared of a hole just because there’s a weird noise coming out of it?” Jason asked, then frowned as something occurred to him. “You know, I once asked your wife the exact same question in a very different context.” “Oh, go jump in a hole,” Clive said bitterly. “Look, there’s one right there.” “Fair enough,” Jason said and leapt into the void.

But the thing about youth is that it can be passionate. Idealistic. It can chase impossible dreams, and in doing so, be the change that pushes civilisation forward. I don’t know about this world, but in mine, every generation makes society a little bit better. Showing compassion where their parents showed blame. Accepting outsiders where they were once excluded. And every generation before it looks back, calling them frivolous or selfish or caught up in foolish ideas that will never work. They claim that what they want is impossible. The reality is that positive change is closer to inexorable. And yes, there are some rough steps backward as well. But compared to even a century ago, society is transformed.”

“Mercy and compassion aren’t about deserving. Or they shouldn’t be, not if you genuinely want to make things better. Compassion can be hard to give, and so easy to give up on.

Jason watched proceedings from the air, sitting in his cloud chair. He sighed. “A lot of people are going to poop in my soul.”