Those Who Gather Firewood for the Many

The chainsaws coated in Armament Haki roared wildly as they swept toward Randall.

He felt as though the entire world had dwindled to that ear-splitting roar.

Just then, Texas "kindly" reminded him again:

"Don't try to defend yourself!

No Armament Haki!

And none of that Navy technique of yours—Iron Body, was it?"

At the same time, Texas tightened his fingers a little more.

The woman let out a howl of agony.

Randall froze.

He forcibly suppressed the urge to defend himself.

By then, the chainsaws had reached him.

For a moment, Randall was like prey caught in a shark's jaws.

Trapped between those tearing teeth, his flesh split open in an instant.

Blood and scraps of flesh flew everywhere, a veritable feast of gore.

The chainsaws kept slicing through Randall's flesh.

Amid that metal storm, he merely gritted his teeth and endured, without making a sound.

The slow execution lasted a full five seconds.

Five endless seconds. Five brutal seconds.

When the chainsaws disappeared, Randall was drenched in blood.

His blood stained the entire stretch of ground around him red.

He had lost almost as much blood as an entire human body contained.

Even with Life Return frantically producing more blood, Randall was struggling to keep up.

Worse still, aside from his face and private parts, almost no patch of flesh on his body remained intact.

Beneath the blood covering it, Randall's face was deathly pale.

Now he truly was gravely wounded.

If not for the Qi still inside his body, he would have collapsed already.

He raised a hand and wiped his face, clearing the sticky blood from his eyelids.

Even that tiny movement made him sway.

Perhaps deciding that Randall no longer posed any threat to him, Texas casually tossed the woman aside.

His excitement at Randall's miserable state was impossible to hide.

Almost dancing with glee, he said:

"Hahaha! So this is the Navy!

What a delight."

Then he glanced at the crowd nearby, rubbed his chin, and said:

"Say, you all want to live, don't you?"

The terrified townspeople froze at his words.

Wasn't that obvious?

Almost everyone dropped to their knees at once.

Those who didn't were dragged down by the people beside them.

"Please spare us, sir!"

"We weren't the ones who called that Navy man here!"

"..."

The corners of Texas's mouth curled upward as he said:

"Since you want to live, I'll give you a chance!"

As he spoke, he took a small knife from inside his clothes and casually tossed it in front of the crowd.

Then he pointed at Randall, who stood weak and helpless in a pool of blood.

"See that man?

Go over there and cut him. Once each!

Anyone who cuts him gets to live!"

Everyone froze.

You could have heard a pin drop in the square.

They looked at Texas, then at Randall.

Hesitation appeared on every face.

But then they glanced at the terrifying Texas again, and that hesitation gradually faded.

He was already in this state. Even if they did nothing, he was doomed.

Similar thoughts began to take shape in their minds.

Just then, someone stepped forward first, stumbled a few steps ahead, and snatched up the knife.

It was the woman Texas had been holding by the throat.

The others hung their heads and stamped their feet in frustration. She had beaten them to it!

Knife in hand, the woman walked toward Randall.

Behind her, the crowd followed as one.

Randall stared in disbelief at the woman and the people behind her.

He couldn't believe it.

He had fought so desperately to save them.

And this was how they repaid him?

"Why?"

The woman lowered her head and said:

"I'm sorry! I'm scared!"

Randall roared, "You're scared of him, but not of me?!"

The woman answered, "You're a good person!"

For a moment, Randall was speechless.

Then the woman abruptly raised her head and spoke with a frenzied expression, as though trying to convince herself:

"I just want to live!

Besides, wasn't it because of you that he grabbed me by the throat?!

You owe me this!"

Randall froze.

He looked at the woman, then at the people following her.

For a moment, all their faces blurred together. Everyone looked the same, wore the same expression.

He had saved them, yet now they looked at him with eyes twisted by hatred.

Suddenly, Randall's heart grew calm.

He remembered a saying he had read before transmigrating:

Those who gather firewood for the many must not be left to freeze in the wind and snow; those who clear a path for the many must not be left trapped among the thorns.

When he first read those words, Randall had been a little puzzled.

He hadn't thought such a saying should need to exist.

Not because it was wrong.

But because...

Would anyone go out of their way to tell people that they needed to eat regularly to stay alive?

Did that really need saying?

That had been Randall's first reaction.

But now, he suddenly understood.

Sadly, those words truly did need to exist.

Sometimes, the more someone gathered firewood or cleared a path for the many, the more those people wished for his death.

They wouldn't consider that those pioneers were gathering firewood and clearing paths for their sake.

They would only complain.

Why was he taking so long?!

What kind of lousy path had he cleared?!

Just like this crowd, eager to plunge a knife into Randall.

After the woman all but shouted those words, the others chimed in.

"Exactly! It's all your fault!

If it weren't for you, we'd all be fine!"

"You're the reason we've been in danger this whole time!

Do you know we almost died just now?!"

"You nearly got us killed earlier!"

Their faces twisted viciously, spittle flying.

As though Randall had been the one trying to kill them all along.

As though they hadn't witnessed what Texas had done.

A bleak sorrow filled Randall's heart.

Whether they truly believed this or were merely saying it for Texas's benefit no longer mattered.

Once they pointed the blade at him, none of it mattered anymore.

Texas stood off to one side, looking delighted.

Though these people inspired no desire to kill in him, they had unexpectedly managed to do something that pleased him immensely.

But he soon noticed that Randall's expression hadn't shattered as he had expected.

Instead, it was calm.

What's this? Doesn't he feel that his beliefs have suffered a devastating blow?

Texas wondered.

By then, the woman holding the knife had reached Randall.

She drew a deep breath, then resolutely raised the knife, ready to plunge it down.

But just then, Randall, whom they had assumed was too weak to move, suddenly shifted his head and met her eyes.

The woman startled, dropping the knife to the ground.

Randall looked at her, but addressed Texas:

"You've got one thing wrong.

I'm not one of those kindhearted doves."