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There may be some parents who say that you shouldn't spank a child, but I don't think there are any parents who say that you should never spank a child, and if there are, they should be spanked.
It doesn't take much to see the disastrous effects of a child who has had an unbridled childhood without a guardian to correct his or her misbehavior, and is then released into society without proper discipline.
Discipline is a duty, not a right.
This is from a book I burned a while back. "Parenting 101. How to Raise a Bratty Child Without Breaking a Sweat", the author of which devotes 10 pages to this point.
''When you say something nice, put it down. ''
''Uh, uh, uh----?''
Stammering, distancing herself from me, as if confronted with a fact she wanted to deny.
Even I'm surprised that such a cold voice can come out of my mouth, but how could she?
I've heard it said that there's nothing more frightening than the occasional outburst of anger from someone who's never been angry before, but I never thought I'd have to prove the credibility of that quasi-theory to myself.
Of course, I wasn't really angry, because that's just a charade; I was just hastily donning whatever mask I thought would be most appropriate for the act of discipline.
Because I've been living such a lethargic, dysfunctional life that I can't even remember the last time I was angry in the first place.
I hadn't been able to come up with a worthy rebuttal to the comments of those around me, who often poked fun at my watery nature, saying that I looked like someone who had forgotten how to get angry, and I hadn't felt the need to.
So, what now?
I'm just throwing up my hands and hoping for the best. Perhaps it's not an exaggeration to say that the gamble that could have led to the worst possible outcome paid off to some extent.
The question is how many. I had spent a lifetime building walls around the emotion of anger, and it was hard to imagine that I would ever be able to project an air of seriousness that would allow me to address someone other than through a grimace.
Honestly, if it weren't for the stiffening of my facial muscles from repeated anguish, even that inexperienced performance would have been a failure.
''Woo, woo, woo----.''
But it worked again.
Was it a belated manifestation of my inherent talent as a great actor, or was Saintess's taste so dull as to be blinded by my flawed performance?
Unfortunately, I didn't have the presence of mind to sit back and grade the papers to see which was the correct answer.
Now that she had confirmed that even this crude anger would work for the time being, utilizing it to her advantage was her top priority.
''Well. First of all, untie this thing on my body right now, and promise my brother right here and now that you'll return the frozen priest from earlier to me as soon as possible.''
''Ooh, ooh----.''
''Welna.''
''Shi, shirer----.''
''Welna!''
The saintess, though taken aback by my firm tone, still clutched my collar with both hands, and tried to hold her ground to the end.
The bitter memories of my adolescence, imprinted on my body by the not infrequent bashing of my head by laughing masters, informed me that the time to drive the wedge was now.
Corporal punishment.
It's a crude practice that stems from the archaic idea that a spanking is medicine for a child who won't listen, but it's one of the few parenting techniques that has such a direct feedback loop that it makes even the most hardened of parents cringe.
I never wanted to resort to such harshness, but now I have a precious life on my shoulders. My life. And a less precious life. The life of a Ranovel priest. There was a total of one and a half servings of mysticism on it, so it was no longer a time to hold back.
My body's senses were slowly wearing down over time due to the invasion of the guardian spirits, but I could still move my upper body at will, and that was all that mattered.
Iron Kuck.
I grabbed the rosario around my neck, ripped it off, and pulled out the blade hidden within like the blade of a balisong knife.
There is a widespread perception in the system that using a rosario with a built-in memory is barbaric, to the point where it is considered taboo amongst capital city priests, but many adventurer priests, like myself, prefer and use them for self-defense when necessary.
On the battlefield, having a weapon can mean the difference between life and death.
Even if it's only a palm-sized knife, it's still better than nothing, and it's common knowledge outside the system that even a child knows this.
''----?''
Seeing me withdraw the knife from my arm, a faint panic and doubt blossomed in my eyes, and Saintess slowly shook her head.
Kwazik.
The creepy sound of a blade slashing into flesh was accompanied by a spurt of red blood.
''----?''
A gasp escaped the saintess's mouth.
Dilated pupils. Her breathing quickened. Tiny lips quivering.
The emotion that the sequence of movements narrated was clear.
Horror. Maybe fear.
It was understandable.
The sight before the saintess's eyes had every right to evoke such ugly emotions.
I pressed the blade to the back of my hand.
Yes, just as the saintess had done before me one day.
◈◈◈◈
Honey chestnut. A briar patch. The thinking chair.
There must be various kinds of corporal punishment in this world, but it was hard to think of one that would be effective against saintess.
A punishment that could terrify a human being who was poked and prodded until his hands were reduced to rags for the simple reason that he refused to give his lips in obedience, I doubted that even Berserk could come up with a punishment that could not be inflicted on a small boy like me who had dropped out of school because of his cruelty.
Furthermore, the very idea of a guardian priest, who is supposed to put the saintess's safety first, even in the name of education, seeking ways to harm the saintess's jade body is already a sacrilege, so I had to abandon corporal punishment that involves pain.
As I pondered this for a while, I suddenly realized.
If I can't hurt the saintess herself, why not take something else that she holds dear hostage?
At the time I had the idea, I hadn't been able to identify the item that saintess might hold dear, and I hadn't been able to put it into action because I was concerned about whether it would be right to use such harsh means against saintess, who was already emotionally unstable.
Now.
Now that I know what the saintess holds dear, and there is no other way to resolve the situation but by such harsh means.
I may as well put my evil plan into action.
''Hoooo----.''
Gaho's invasion has caused her mind and senses to collapse.
Her mind was filled with bizarre logic and concepts floating in disorder.
Even organizing the fragments of her thoughts into chronological order was becoming a struggle.
The pain in the back of my hand was more bearable than I expected. In fact, it was almost unremarkable.
It's a strange feeling, like being awake but still under anesthesia. The lines between dream and reality were blurred, and only the vague presence of the strange metal piercing my flesh and touching my bones was a vague reminder that I was still in one piece.
I have to say, that was a good stab.
The stabbing itself was premeditated, but my original plan was only to pull out a knife and pretend to stab, so the stabbing of the back of my hand was technically an accident.
But my intuition, which had seen me through dozens, perhaps hundreds, of life and death situations, told me that if I didn't generate enough stimulation to blow a hole in my hand at this very moment, my mind would be completely engulfed by something formless.
As if by spinal cord reflex, when I came to, my right hand was already driving a blade into the back of my left hand.
''Ouch----. Now that my hand is like this, I won't be able to give Welna a hug or stroke her hair anymore----. What am I going to do with this----.''
''----''
As if her brain had been buffered or something, immediately after that, the saintess didn't move, not even a single blink, just stood there, staring at the blood dripping from my left hand.
I watched the tepid drops of blood trickle down the blade, one drop, two drops, and then three drops, until they fell to the floor, leaving a black stain on this white world.
Eyelids growing heavier and heavier. The blurring pain. The belated realization that the only part of my body I can move besides my left hand, which is where the knife is stuck, is the top of my neck.
Eventually, I decided to reach for the last thing I had left.
I brought the blade sticking out of my palm to my throat.
I'd never seen a sword come out of a hand like that in any of my childhood hero movies.
Now that I'm doing it, how could it be so ugly?
Apparently, not just anyone can be a hero.
''Well----. This is your last warning----. Untie this right now and fix the priest----.''
Immediately after I spat out those words, my mind was already half-submerged in darkness, and I had no way of knowing how the saintess would react to those words, or even what kind of response she would give.
Would she weep with frustration or anger at my betrayal?
Maybe she'll express disappointment in my cavalier attitude toward putting her life on the scales.
I steeled myself, barely, barely, holding on to a consciousness that felt like it could snap at any moment.
A familiar, yet somehow unfamiliar, plaintive voice rang out.
''You're wrong----. ''Hmph, you're doing it wrong----.''
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