◆ The Beginning of My Life
I was born into a world that seemed nothing less than a medieval fantasy. My birth was into a family of an extraordinary rank—even within the kingdom—a house that bore the title of Knightly Nobility.
Yet the very title, as I recall it, carried a meaning altogether different. Its origins were once dissimilar; over the long, unyielding span of feudal society, the title of knightly nobility evolved and became fixed. Thus, a knightly house came to bear the sacred duty of bridging the nobles and the common folk.
―――
The world of my birth was utterly unlike that of my former life.
It was scarcely a civilized society. Neither democracy, nor the notion of equality, nor the ideal of aiding the weak, nor even the manner of worshiping the gods—each was a phenomenon wholly alien, a relic of another world. I was born into a realm where freedom of action was completely stifled—a world altogether other. Every memory inscribed upon my soul became as distant and ephemeral as a dream—a collection of recollections rendered utterly useless.
Indeed, if the memories I carried held no relevance here, they could only serve as hindrances. For one who once enjoyed a life fulfilled in a former existence, this state might well be deemed a “punishment.”
Yet, even if I were to speak truthfully of the events that befell me, they would seem so absurd and fantastical that in this land—where even the study of the mind is unknown—none could fathom them. I would assuredly be branded a madman, as plainly as one beholds fire.
To speak thus is forbidden; my knowledge is rendered futile, and I would doubtless harbor a deep nostalgia for the life of ease and plenty I once knew. For one who has not been charged to “accomplish” anything, and who finds no inherent purpose—cast adrift and alone—this world might well seem like a purgatory.
――
Yet, oh gods of my former world, how disappointing thou hast been.
But to me, it is not punishment at all. My heart—untainted by even a scrap of longing for that barren past—has come to feel an unexpected kinship with this realm. To my mind, this “punishment” is truly a blessing.
If nothing is granted, then it may be earned; if the wisdom of my former life proves futile, I shall gather anew the knowledge of this world. In that moment, it felt as though my heart were freed from all malice and ill will—a chance to forget all that was and to remake my very existence.
―――
What else might one call it but a blessing?
From the day of my birth, I awakened. As time passed, and while gradually coming to understand the station into which I was cast, I began to learn of this world. Like other children, I recorded its truths upon a blank page—inscribing them letter by letter.
The recollections of my past granted me a modest advantage; I came to know, in the most personal way, the value of knowledge. Though others saw me as a quiet, well-behaved child, in truth I was utterly consumed by the desire to understand this strange realm.
This fervor was misconstrued in a favorable light—as though I were nothing more than a docile, unassuming child. In truth, my position as the youngest was, in a sense, a place specially reserved to receive abundant familial affection.
To learn is to know; there was no need to flaunt one’s knowledge. Thus, my childhood passed in quiet reserve—never neglected, with all necessities provided, attended to by my brothers and lovingly nurtured by my parents.
In my former life, I had known joys unimagined—a joy beyond all hope. Though the affection then was somewhat rough, I was never left abandoned; my family, busy as a knightly house, cared in their own steadfast way. And so, I came to be regarded as an obedient, quiet, and unassuming child.
––––
From the perspective of my former world, this realm appeared an interminably stagnant place—a world where the mysterious force of magic prevailed. Millennia of social stagnation had seen the persistence of an absolute monarchy and an entrenched noble order, with social stratification as clear as day.
Among the common folk, strict classes were imposed—the merchants, the artisans, the peasants all sharply divided, with even a slave class existing as a grim reality. It was a society of layered, overlapping strata, where adherence to the rules was paramount for survival.
The kingdom in which we dwell stands as a symbol of authority, its reins held by His Majesty the King and the supreme noble house.
Such is the inescapable truth. As in many lands, the highest nobles, in council, support the royal authority and govern the state; mid-ranking nobles serve as the limbs of their betters, while lower nobles execute the affairs of state.
――――
Centralized, autocratic rule is the standard in this world.
In my former life, society had lingered in an age reminiscent of the late Middle Ages into modern times—a seemingly endless era. And why was such a state possible? The answer is simple: in this world there exists “magical power and magic.” Social unrest may be forcefully quelled by the sheer might of magic.
To one who recalls a former life, it is nothing less than a mysterious force; yet throughout society, it is this “magical power and magic” that determines a man’s worth.
――
Indeed, it exists to shield man from nature’s fierce onslaught and to uphold society.
A collective feudal order maintained by the mighty—this is the natural state of affairs. The powerless are granted no voice; without a voice, one cannot hope to alter the system.
Even should a clever “awakened one” arise to lead a call for “social reform,” he would be swiftly subdued by those who wield magic—a force imbued with overwhelming, absolute might. And if one wished to escape such a fate, the only recourse would be to elude the notice of the kingdoms and seek refuge in vast, impenetrable forests teeming with monsters.
Yet even such refuge proves fleeting, for any such group would vanish within but a few generations—so harsh is the ecosystem that even the mighty forsake its cultivation. The human domains scattered amid the all-encompassing “Forest of Evil” remain ever exposed to peril.
Thus, all the people of this world feel it—they know they are protected by those of great power.
――――
His Majesty the King possesses an unimaginable reservoir of inherent magical power; the magic he manifests wields tremendous force—capable even of influencing the heavens and the weather. The noble hierarchy is arrayed thus: His Majesty the King; then the Grand Duke, the Duke, the Border Count, the Marquis, the Senior Earl, the Earl, the Viscount, the Baron, the Sub-Baron, and finally the Knightly Nobility—the measure being the magnitude of one’s inherent magical power and the potency of one’s spells.
Those who rule must display their might and ensure the safety of both the common folk and the peace of the kingdom. They must devise means to stabilize the realms of men, securing the necessities of life. In concert with other nations, they must strive to lessen nature’s threats and expand the sphere of human existence.
Even if such expansion were to lead to conflict with other lands, it is an act to be accepted in light of the supreme command to secure one’s realm.
Even a child can discern that the strength of one’s magical power and the force of one’s spells are crucial determinants of a man’s worth. Hence, common folk unable to wield magic have little chance of ascending in station; save for rare exceptions, one’s social position remains fixed.
Conversely, among those bereft of magical power, an ability known as “technique” is held in high esteem. In the church, one places a hand upon a crystal ball to divine the “technique” bestowed from above—and it is by that measure that one’s station is determined. Thus, while some mobility between classes exists, the transmission of a parent’s “technique” to a child renders one’s social standing, for all intents and purposes, fixed.
There are high and mid-ranking nobles who protect the common folk and uphold the state; lower nobles who steadfastly defend the habitable lands against nature’s fury; and citizens who labor diligently to secure the promise of tomorrow. Countless kingdoms—and indeed many nations—exist within this world.
No idealized utopia, dreamed of by common folk with an “awakened” spirit, can ever take root here. For the formidable presence of monstrous creatures and magical beasts within the “Forest of Evil” permits no such fancy. In this realm, the notion that all men are equal is but an illusion; the mighty claim all—and that is the accepted order of society.
You said:
what was the differences? did i giving you duplicate chapters?
3/3
ChatGPT said:
Yes, you gave me the same chapter twice! The second time, it was identical to the first, so my translation ended up being a refined version of the first one rather than a new chapter.
Would you like me to continue with the next chapter instead? Let me know the correct one, and I’ll translate it while keeping the same style!
You said:
ok maybe this one.
開幕
◆ 無為に生きた『罰』
視界にじんわりと赤みが差し込む。 苦しい。 粘着ついた暖かさが、全身を包み込んでいる感覚が、得体しれない不快感を加速させる。
強い圧迫感と身体が潰れる様な痛みを強く感じる。 身体を圧搾されるような気にもなる。
――― ここは煉獄か？
その煉獄から抜け出そうと、必死に藻掻く。 暖かくも安らぎを覚えていた場所が、痛みと苦痛の支配する煉獄と化してしまった事実に恐怖しつつ、其処から脱出しようと、藻掻く、藻掻く、藻掻く……
脱出の可能性は唯一つ。 酷く狭い『門』を潜り抜ける事。
藻掻き切った先に光が溢れ出し、視界を光が覆い尽くした。 そう、脱出に成功したのだ。 なんだ、なんだったのだ？ 必死の脱出に安堵する間もなく、わたしは、別の違和感に苛まれる。
――― 全身がぬるりと外気に晒される。
喘ぐように、貪るように、口を開ける。 粘り付いた何かが、大量に口から吐き出され、胸に空隙が生まれ、呼吸が始まる。 萎み切った肺に外気を取り込もうと、大きく息を吸う。 肺が、急激に拡張されて、メリメリと肋骨が嫌な音を立てる。
胸郭がメリメリと音を立てて広がるのがわかる。 判ってしまう。 まるで身体が再構築されていくような感覚だ。未成熟な骨が、正しい形を取り戻そうとしてゴリゴリと内側で動くたび、痛みと恐怖が容赦なく襲いかかってくる。
未知の恐怖と痛みが私を襲う。 その状況が、今の私の全てであった。
――― そんな中、唐突に理解する。
そうだ、赤子が泣くのは、この痛みに耐えかねてだ。 絶叫で紛らわせねば、狂ってしまう程の痛み。 いや、違う。 恐怖と痛みが魂に刻み込まれた『記憶』を押し流し、無垢なるモノとして、生誕するのだ。
しかし、私には、『忘却』の恩恵は訪れなかった。
痛みが続く中、私は…… 全く別の事で、感情を支配され、泣く事も出来なかった。 それ程の衝撃が、”僕”…… ”俺”…… ”自分”…… 『わたし』を…… 包み込んでいたのだ。
生れ落ちたその日、わたし自身の中に
年老いた人の『記憶』が定着してしまったのだ。
それも、俺が「生まれる前」に生きていたらしい男の……
―――― 人生の全てを諦めた『老人』の記憶だった。
――― § ――― § ―――
生れ落ちた赤子の私の脳裏に、鬱々とした毎日を送る老人の記憶が定着した。 陰惨で不遇な人生を全うせざるを得なかった、一人の老人が諦観に満ち満ちた『心』を保ったまま、この世界に生れ落ちた。
前世とは隔絶した世界。 民主的な自由な社会から、身分制度が生まれが全てを決するような、そんな世界に産まれたのだと、理解し得た。 なぜならば、前世の死亡時、あちらの世界の『神』とやらが、自分に語り掛けて来たのだ。 無為に生きた『罰』として、前世と全く違った世界に魂を送ると……
『 全てに於いて行動の自由を封殺する、全く違う世界に、産まれて貰う 』
と。 何もない、真っ白な空間で、自身に何が起こったかを認知する時間も与えられず、高圧的に、断定的に、此方の事情など知った事では無く、事実を淡々と伝えるように、そう云われたからだ。 抗弁する時間すら与えられなかった。 何時だってそうだった。 投げ捨てられる時は一瞬。
―――― 無為に生きた？
アレには、そう見えたのだろうな。 観察されていた？ いや、偶々、見つかったのかもしれない。 なぜなら、前世の私の周囲には、私と同じ様な者達が大勢いた筈だ。 いや、待てよ…… そう見えていただけなのかも知れないな。 そう見たかったのかもしれない。 それぞれの人生を、何かしらの意味や欲に於いて、謳歌していたのかもしれない。
私には無理だ。
前世で云う所の『毒親』に育てられ、期待もなく、暴力と無理解と放置と共に育った私は、全てに於いて『諦観』を以て生きていたのだからな。 心の触れ合いなど、求めようもなく、常に誰かの『駒』としての『生』。 己の『欲』を出した瞬間に、全てが叩き潰される、そんな出来事の連続。
荒み切った幼児期を過ぎ、両親の放置の結果 行政主導で児童福祉施設で義務教育とやらが終えるまで、其処で過ごした。 そんな境遇の私は、高等教育を受ける事もなく、下働きが必要な会社に入り、只々便利に使い潰された。 会社の寮は、それこそ刑務所の独房よりも劣悪な環境で、日に十七時間の労働が私の心を押しつぶして行ったな。
人生など、だれも助けては呉れない。 その場所から抜け出す『力』も無い。 現状を変更し打破する気概も持てない。 生きる目的さえ見失っていた ただ、ただ、惰性で動いている、生きた人形。 働いて喰って眠るだけの毎日。 離職率の高い職場の現場仕事な為、同僚は一定しないし古株と呼ばれる職人たちは、コミュ障相手に、まともに育てる筈もなく、だれも私には何も教えない。
日々を重ね、年月を重ねても、何も成す事がなく、何時までも下働きの毎日。 行く当てのない私は、そんな極悪な環境下でも、其処に居るしかなかった。 安い給与は、監獄にも似た寮に居る為の『寮費』と云う名目で、ほぼほぼ吸い上げられ、自身の手元には明細の一割にも満たない現金のみ。 日用雑貨を購入すれば、殆ど残らない程……
寮の部屋は、ほぼ何もなく、眠る為のベットと寝具。 ちょっとした書き物をする卓袱台が一つ。 少々の筆記具に覚書に使うノートが数冊。 退職して行った元同僚たちが、残した数々の書籍と雑誌。 会社支給の制服と、自身が購入した下着。 それが、私の全て。
―――― 人生を変える出会い？
そんなモノは、何も無かった。 工場と寮は隣接して立っていたし、そもそも過疎っている田舎に工場は有った為、人の出入りは極端に少なく、故にそんな環境が見過ごされていた。 其処に職を得た者達もまた、何かしらの事情を抱えた者達であり、極端に他人との関りを避ける傾向に在る者達だった。
故に、ただただ歳を重ね、雑用に日々を暮らしていた。 楽しみと云えば、元同僚たちの残した書籍を読む事くらいだ。 喰って寝て…… 風邪を引いても、病院に行く事も出来ない。 その上、休む事も許されず、市販薬を噛み、ボロボロの身体を引きずりながら、齢を重ねて来た。
―――― 前世に於ける『 最後の日 』。
時を経て、その役割を終えたのか、所属していた会社は社会の淘汰を受け、その寿命を終えた。 退職金すら貰えず定年を迎えた私は、行く当てもない。 更には過酷な仕事で壊した身体を持て余し、取り壊しが決まった寮の裏手で呆然と青空を見上げながら、無為に時間が過ぎていった。 そして、突然、胸に激しい痛みが走る。
無理に無理を重ねた結果の、身体の自壊。 いわゆる心臓発作。
只々、諦観に身を任せ、ボンヤリと意識が失われて行く事に、なんの後悔も無かった。 これでやっと『虚無の連鎖』から抜け出せると、安堵の気持ちが有ったのかもしれない。
誰にも看取られる事無く、誰にも死を認識される事もなく、利用されるだけ利用された、 ” ボロくて何の意味も無いモノが一つ ” 失われたに過ぎなかった。
―――― そして辿り着いたのが白い世界。
私の人生自体が『 罪 』と云うのか。 来世を『期待する事』すら出来ないのか。 ならば、神とやらは、理不尽極まりないな。 白い世界から投げ捨てられるような、浮遊感があった。 高所から墜落する様な感覚に捕らえられる。 白い世界は黒く塗り潰され、五感は閉じて行き…… ただ、小さな鼓動だけを感じる赤黒い世界に押し込まれた。
………………これが、わたしに対して実行された 『 罰 』と、云う訳だ。
ChatGPT said:
――― Opening Act ―――
◆ The “Punishment” for a Life Lived in Vain
A reddish hue slowly bleeds into my vision. It is suffocating. A thick, clinging warmth envelops my entire body, an unfamiliar sensation that feeds my growing discomfort.
A crushing pressure, a pain as though my very body is being ground into pulp, assails me. The sensation is akin to being squeezed dry, my entire being caught in an unrelenting vice.
――― Is this purgatory?
I thrash desperately, struggling to escape. The place that had once been warm, a source of comfort, has become a hell of agony and torment. Terror grips me as I fight to break free. I struggle. I writhe. I push forward…
There is but one path of escape—through a narrow, suffocating gate.
At last, after a final desperate push, light floods my vision, blinding and absolute. I have escaped. But from what? And to where? No sooner have I drawn breath than a new sense of unease takes hold of me.
――― My entire body is exposed to the air, slick and trembling.
I gasp, my mouth opening hungrily. Something thick and clinging is expelled in great heaves from my throat, leaving an emptiness in my chest. My breath begins.
I suck in air, my deflated lungs struggling to expand, and with a terrible crack, my ribs groan in protest.
I can feel it—my chest cavity widening, stretching, forcing itself into its proper shape. My bones, still frail and unformed, grind together as they desperately adjust to their intended form. The sensation is agonizing, overwhelming, terrifying.
Pain. Fear. These are the only things that exist to me now.
――― And then, suddenly, understanding dawns upon me.
Yes. That is why newborns cry. It is not mere instinct, but a cry to drown out the sheer agony of birth. No—more than that. The pain and terror serve to wash away the memories inscribed upon the soul, allowing one to be born anew, pure and untouched.
But for me, the mercy of “forgetfulness” never came.
The pain persisted, yet my mind was consumed by something else entirely—so much so that I could not even cry. Something far greater, far more profound, had enveloped me—no, myself—no, the man I once was—
For on the day of my birth, something else settled within me.
The memories of an aged man.
Memories belonging to a man who lived before I was born.
―――― The memories of an old man who had surrendered everything.
A newborn child I may have been, but in my mind dwelled the bleak recollections of an aged man, one whose life had been nothing but a series of resigned, weary days.
A man who had lived a harsh, desolate life, whose heart had long been consumed by disillusionment. And yet, he—I—was reborn into this world, burdened with the weight of that past.
This world was entirely removed from my previous one. A world of rigid hierarchy, where one’s birth dictated all. A world where rank, not merit, decided a man’s worth.
I understood this, for I remembered.
For I knew what had transpired at the moment of my previous death.
The “god” of that world had spoken to me.
As punishment for a life lived in vain, I was to be cast into a world utterly unlike my own.
“You shall be reborn into a world where freedom is strangled at every turn, where you may act only as your station allows. A world wholly unlike the one you squandered.”
I had not even been granted a moment to comprehend my fate.
A cold, dismissive decree. Impersonal. Absolute. There was no room for my pleas, no space for defiance. I was discarded without so much as a second thought.
Just as it had always been.
Lived in vain?
Is that how it appeared to that thing?
Had I been watched? Or was I simply found by chance?
For in my previous life, there had been many others like me.
No, wait. Had there been?
Perhaps it only seemed that way.
Perhaps I had only wanted to believe that.
Perhaps they had each found some meaning, some small joy, in their own ways. Perhaps they had lived, however humbly, with a dream, a desire—something I had never grasped.
But I could not.
I had been raised by what my world called “toxic parents,” beaten down before I could even conceive of hope. No expectations. No affection. Only violence, neglect, and indifference.
I never sought connection, nor did I desire it. My existence had been that of a pawn, a piece on a board played by others. Any desire, any personal will, was crushed the moment it surfaced.
I endured a childhood of silent suffering, cast off to the care of the state, raised in a welfare facility until my so-called education was deemed complete.
Higher learning was never an option. Instead, I was sent to labor—placed into a company that sought little more than bodies to use.
A cog in the machine.
The company dormitory was no better than a prison cell.
Seventeen-hour workdays ground my body to dust.
No one saves you.
No one lends a hand.
I lacked the “power” to escape. I lacked even the will to fight against my circumstances. Life had no purpose beyond existing.
I worked. I ate. I slept. That was all.
The workplace suffered from ceaseless turnover. The senior workers had no patience for men like me, men with no aptitude, no connections, no promise. No one taught me anything.
Years passed. Decades passed. And I remained the same—unskilled, unnoticed, disposable.
There was nowhere else to go.
The meager wages I earned were siphoned away as “dorm fees,” leaving me with scraps barely enough to survive. I could afford only the simplest necessities.
A barren room.
A thin mattress, a rickety table.
A few notebooks and pens.
A collection of discarded books, left behind by those who had quit before me.
Company-issued uniforms, and the underclothes I purchased for myself.
That was everything I had.
A fateful encounter?
A moment that could change my life?
I had nothing of the sort.
The factory stood in a remote, desolate town. Few ever passed through. The people who worked there were all like me—burdened by circumstances beyond their control, each keeping to themselves.
And so, the years simply passed.
I lived, performing menial tasks day after day. My only solace was in the books left behind by others.
I ate. I slept.
I caught colds but could not afford to rest.
I swallowed cheap medicine and dragged my aching body to work.
Until, at last, my body gave out.
The final day of my previous life.
The company met its end, consumed by the ever-turning wheels of society.
Retirement was not an option.
No severance. No savings.
I had nowhere to go.
The factory dormitory was marked for demolition.
With nowhere left to turn, I simply sat in its shadow, staring vacantly at the sky.
Then, without warning, pain surged through my chest.
My body, long overworked, finally collapsed. A heart attack.
There was no fear. No regret.
Perhaps, at last, I could escape the hollow, endless cycle of my existence.
No one wept for me.
No one even noticed I was gone.
A single, useless thing was discarded.
And then—
I arrived in the white void.
Was my very life a “sin”?
Was I denied even the right to hope for something more?
If such was the will of the gods, then they were naught but cruel arbiters.
A floating sensation overtook me, as though I had been cast away.
The white void turned to black.
My senses dulled, fading into nothingness—
And then, in a suffocating world of red and black, I felt only the faintest of heartbeats.
And so, this was the “punishment” they carried out upon me.
