NieR Re[in]

Guide

It is undoubtedly a fake in its current form,
for it would never order its pious followers to die.
I will strike it down!

The order it gave me is essentially a death sentence.
It is never wrong. It can never be wrong. Which means...

If it orders us to die, we will obey without question,
for we trust in its judgment.

If we obey it, we will never be wrong.
If we believe in it, we will never have to worry.

Grieving his daughter's death, the emperor ordered the people
of the nation to kill all gladiators and any involved in their games.
This order sparked a slaughter that incited a civil war,
ultimately causing the nation to collapse.

The princess went to the colosseum to help the gladiators save
themselves and was met with hostility. The anger the gladiators
felt towards the ruling class was unleashed upon her,
and all that remained was her mangled corpse.

The princess made her case to the council. "Lives are not to be
toyed with. This barbarism must be ended and the gladiators
must be saved!" she cried, but the council did not listen.
Disappointed, she headed to the colosseum alone.

The princess wept, for she learned there is a custom in her
nation of making gladiators fight to death for the enjoyment of
the people. Her heart ached, as she believed people who hold
no hatred for one another have no business fighting.

The knife in my heart grew to completion today.
I've tried so hard not to harm anyone,
so let this be my first act of violence.
I place the jet-black blade against my neck...

Even as an adult, the knife is still with me.
It's grown so much bigger than the one I once saw in the manga.
It pulses in my hand, and it radiates a sinister heat.

There's a knife in my heart.
I don't have time to read manga anymore.
All I do is study.
But there's a knife in my heart, and it slowly grows.

There's a knife in my heart. It's pitch black,
like the protag's from my favorite manga.
It spurs me on when things are tough or when I'm feeling down.

The nation's army falls, and when the gladiators arrive in the
council chamber, the magistrate fights back. The last thing
the magistrate sees before his end is the sneers of the elder
parliament members as they enjoy the brutality.

Their homes destroyed, the gladiators are prisoners in a foreign
land and forced to fight for the enjoyment of others. "If we're
going to die anyway, we might as well die fighting back," they
decide, and the gladiators rise up in rebellion.

The magistrate's plan was a hit and drew great crowds to the
colosseum. But as participants would lose their lives in combat,
he eventually needed to send soldiers to neighboring
nations to secure more prisoners to make into gladiators.

A nation's magistrate had a most splendid idea: He would gather
slaves and sinners together, call them "gladiators," and have
them fight to the death in a round arena called a
"colosseum" for the enjoyment of the people.

Humanity once had the concept of "self," which led to a diverse
species. But those with minority personalities naturally died out,
leaving only one dominant "self" in the present world.

Humanity once had the concept of "family," where
groups related by blood (or sometimes not) formed
communities. Some relied on the supervision of "parents"
(or elders), which at times made things much worse.

Humanity once had the concept of "love." This let one choose
a mate in an environment free from evolutionary danger,
but proved inefficient in terms of preserving the species.

Humanity once had the concept of "friendship." It is said to
be a reason why old humans were social animals.
It also served to increase the survivability of
individuals by acting as a group.

I want to ■■■■ ■■■■■■■ with all my ■■■■■,
and I want ■■■■■■■■■■ to ■■■■ me just as much.
■ ■■■■ to believe it was such a ■■■■ ■■■■■■■,
but ■■■ just the ■■■■■■■ of it fills me
with ■■■■■■■ and makes my ■■■■■ run ■■■■.

But things don't work out so well in ■■■■ ■■■■.
I'm ■■■ ■■■■■.
I couldn't be like the ■■■■ in the ■■■■■.
I will ■■■ without ever ■■■■■■,
without ever being ■■■■■.

■■■■ ■■■■ I wanted to be just like the ■■■■■ in the story.
I wanted to help ■■■■■■,
stay ■■■■ to my ■■■■■■■■■■■,
be ■■■■■■ with the person of my dreams, be loved...

When I was a kid, there was this book at the library I just loved.
It was about a young magician girl who, helped by her friends,
overcomes all sorts of challenges and becomes a great
spellcaster that everyone respects.

My arms, legs, torso, and head were hastily thrown together
from parts stolen from the enemy. I'm different now.
Will my squad still accept me?
And how will the enemy see me?

Captain was killed in battle, so I'll try to avenge him. It won't
kill my will to fight! Even if we lose our limbs, we'll trust
each another, slaughter the enemy, and go home.
We're so close.

Our weapons were hastily assembled from our fallen
comrades. Pretty flimsy things, but hey, beggars and
horses and wishes and all that. Still,
they're all trying their best, so I guess I will too.

Twelve units were on patrol when we were shot down
by an unknown enemy. We six survivors landed on a
desert island, and thus began a
heroic battle against all odds!

This body will one day break down and disappear—the
inevitable fate of any tool. The girl accepts this truth as
naturally as she breathes. Yet she carves her name in
stone with the spear, almost as though it's her grave marker.

The girl ponders. Whoever slumbers here is not someone
she knew. But the one who left the spear had
clearly thought of them to the very end.

She pulls the spear from the ground. It's sturdy in her hands.
Someone left this here to mourn another. She runs a finger
along its blade as though tracing its memories.
Blood drips from her fingertip.

When the girl sees the spear stuck in the ground, a thought
crosses her mind: Does someone slumber
beneath? It's almost as though it's a grave marker.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Nov. 12th.
Test subject has ceased listening to us since the test—it
only laughs. We are pausing development on its equipment and
will instead examine the subject and subsequently dispose of it.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Nov. 11th. Today's
weapon tests concluded. Expected results, but abnormalities
were observed in the test subject's black box.
We will continue to monitor the unit.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Jul. 23rd. By
transferring a precise amount of energy from the black
boxes—YoRHa unit cores—we can increase a weapon's
power by leaps and bounds. Experiment successful.

YORHA TECH DEVELOPMENT LOG: Mar. 7th.
With the official adoption of YoRHa, we in the technology
development department will continue making armaments to
be used as standard equipment. This log will detail our progress.

I heard she's switching to a Gunner. I was shocked, but she's
skilled—I know she'll wield a gun just as well as a blade.
But honestly? She looks WAY better with a colossal
claymore than a pretty little pistol.

The more time I spend training, the more I begin to win...but it's
not enough. It always feels like she's going easy on me,
and I hate it. I just... I just want to be her equal.

No matter how many times we spar, she wins every time.
But I refuse to believe I'm not her equal.
I refuse to be an inferior version of her.

There's ONE person I have to beat. I want to be better than
everyone, but I'd sooner die before losing to HER. She's an
Attacker android like me. That calm and collected
attitude of hers creeps me out. It's just her, though.

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c617567687465722e

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6176656e756573206279207768696368207765206d
6967687420777265616b20756e7468696e6b61626c
65206465737472756374696f6e2e

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f6620616c6c2077617973207765206d69676874206b696
c6c206f757220656e656d6965732e

The younger sister's instinct was correct—the new regime had
censored the mail and switched out the letters. Worry gave
way to resentment when the younger sister never responded,
and thus were the close siblings forever torn apart.

The younger sister, still in the old nation, got her sister's letters
but dared not write back for the new regime was said to mistreat
its people. Yet the letters contained praise for the state...
Was it truly her sister who wrote them?

Travel between the countries was restricted. The elder sister,
stranded within the autonomous nation and yearning to be with
her sister again, sent letters to her separated sibling. Though
her letters went unanswered, she continued to send them.

A country was torn in twain by war, one side rising to become
an autonomous global superpower. The border was filled
with strife, tearing countless families apart.
A pair of sisters were but two victims.

(Customer Review) I bought this thinking it was an item I'd
been wanting forever, but it turned out to be a replica and the
seller won't respond to any of my messages.
I want my money back!

Thank you for the photos. It seems to be in quite good
condition, so I'd like to buy it from you. I'll send a money
transfer your way shortly. Thank you!

Thank you for replying! Are there any scratches or other
imperfections? I'd like to get a better look at its condition,
if possible. Could you please upload a few
photos that show it from different angles?

Hello there. Is this gun one of the Blackbird models
produced in limited quantities in the 90s?
It looks like it might be.

REPORT 0001
I've been ordered to study a weapon found in the ruins.
But from what I can tell from the notes that
accompany it, I'm better off not touching it.

ENTRY NO. 13
Just how many people have been killed by this weapon?
The chill I feel from it makes it seem cursed...
I wonder what its previous owners thought when they wielded it?

ENTRY NO. 2
Modern weapons? Fine. But I've never seen an outdated
weapon like this. And just because it's old doesn't mean
I can't feel the chill coming off it.

ENTRY NO. 1
I've been put in charge of researching weapons called
"relics," but the things negate everything we know
about science. How am I supposed to study 'em?

His wife slept around, his son was a delinquent, and his
daughter never left the house. His mother barely knew
where she was anymore. It was enough to drive any man mad.
"Complete," he said. Hah! More like broken beyond repair.

I'd heard that the husband was a renowned sculptor.
I remember he'd walk around town muttering to himself.
Isn't that creepy? Allegedly, he ran around last night
before the incident yelling, "It's complete!" How frightening.

The family suicide was near my parents' house. It was a
weird family. They had all these vaguely human
"art pieces" in their yard. But the girl was close
to my age, so we used to play together all the time.

And now, the news. The bodies of a family of five were
discovered at their home in a quiet residential district this
morning. Police suspect that the father led the
family in a group suicide. More as the story develops.

The monster of light calls this place "the birthplace of monsters."
No one knows where monsters come from, nor where they go.
But the one truth is that they
are born in a place of perfect beauty.

The monster of light leads him to a plaza bathed in brilliance,
and he looks up to find brightly burning stars
soaring across the sky.
And suddenly—impossibly—his heart begins to stir.

He is not interested in beautiful things, for he thinks he lacks
the heart to acknowledge them. But this time, on a whim,
he decides to follow the monster of light.

No matter how many dreams he eats, he is never satisfied.
But one day, a monster with a body as white as light itself
appears before him and says:
"I will take you somewhere beautiful."

Turned out Paul was a spy for the enemy. At one point,
he'd fallen in love with our idyllic town, and even thought
about betraying his country.
But that thought vanished the moment Jade was killed.

But at some point, the well-stocked food stores ran dry.
Women who were once close started killing each
other for crumbs, and when the men came back,
their town was littered with corpses and bullets.

We got ready to fight—just in case—while we waited for the
men to return from war. All the villagers were given guns,
starting with one-eyed Paul and his lover, Jade.

The Paul-Jade Incident:
Everything went haywire when that damned jealous
woman killed the kind and beautiful Jade!

But they don't use that strategy anymore. See, 'cause once
the war was over, the soldiers had grown physically and
mentally, but they also lost everything
that made them uniquely masculine.

The soldiers went through special training to bear the images
projected around them. I don't know what that entailed,
but when they came back, they looked more valiant.
More...present.

The plan was to project holograms on the front lines.
They tried terrifying monsters and young kids for a while,
but the one that worked the best was naked ladies.
I mean, of course, right?

The Duschene Goddess Strategy:
Gosh, that was a rough fight! People come up with the weirdest
ideas, don't they?
All those people dying... It sorta felt like a dream, huh?

Bolenara's the name of a tornado that forms in summer every
year. And when that uncontrollable giant finished its rampage,
the bomb in its chest went off, bringing the nation victory.

From the container came a giant that smashed
everything it saw—enemy and ally alike. Was it a creature?
A machine? A god? No one knew, but the sole
survivor said it sure as hell was a calamity.

Starving soldiers with broken swords and guns had no will
to fight against powerful armies. But the moment they
gave up hope, the door to the big
container behind them opened.

Operation Bolenera:
It wasn't right, I tells ya! Sending all those sick and useless
kids to the front lines!

The atrocity was carried out by villagers whose families
were taken as decoys for military operations.
The government had no idea they were all in on it,
and the villagers conspired well to make their stories match.

No one felt like ringing in the new year—and when January
came, they found the corpses of all the missing people in
the bakery basement. It was an abattoir.
A midden heap. A horror.

People started going missing that year, most related to the
military. The government searched high and low for the
culprit, but by the time December rolled around,
twenty-three people were gone.

Bloody Thirteenth Month:
The calendar means little now.
This cursed year will continue into eternity until
we complete our mission or someone shows their true colors.

But the Dieque bacteria mutated among the masses of dead
bodies and learned to move them like the living, turning
Nation X's true enemy into a nation of the undead.

The bacteria had a roughly one-week incubation time.
Wounded soldiers who brought it home would inflict
ruin on entire armies, permitting Nation X to seize an easy,
overwhelming victory.

Nation X's plan was to use weapons imbued with a bioweapon
called the Dieque bacteria. It was an anaerobic bacteria that
could directly infect others via any open wound.

The Dieque Operation:
It looked like a gate to hell had opened—and if the nations
around it hadn't stopped fighting to work together,
who knows what would've happened?

We'll meet again one day at God's side, and nothing would
make me happier than to hear you lived according to
what you believed was right—even if it
means a different lifestyle from my own.

I don't want you to grow into a soldier. Rather,
I want you to bring joy to others. Be an actor!
A singer! An artist! Ah, but now I'm just being selfish.
You live your life as you please.

Though this tragic war has gone on for so long, I still think
it's possible to lead a fun life amidst the gunfire.
So do that. Love people. Know love yourself.
Grow into a person who is kind.

I'm an anti-war activist, which is why the military targets me.
They're going to get me eventually, so I'm leaving this
letter for you, little one—and writing it as you
sleep soundly beside me.

But at the end of the war, his fellow soldiers killed him,
dying his blade with his own blood.
They say he gave a cherubic smile and said thanks,
for his one wish was to die in battle.

He turned down special forces to fight in his same company.
He rampaged like a devil in battle, then slept like an angel at
night. His squadmates loved him because he was,
for the most part, a harmless kid.

The boy was just a normal foot soldier, see,
but once he killed a terrifying number of enemies,
folks named him the Boy God. His weapon was a
strange sword that gleamed whenever he entered battle.

Maschuka, the Boy God:
We loved him. Some feared him,
of course, but he was usually so innocent.
He helped a lot of my own friends and everything.

I don't know, she thinks. She cannot read into
anything—she cannot even feel it—and this makes
her sad beyond all measure.
Because oh, how she wishes to know.

She takes things in with her own eyes as she makes her
way forward. Ghosts of buildings. She tries to feel
what is left of the world's breath.
Did people laugh here once? Did they cry?

She pieces together fragments, tracing the vague
shape of the world. So many countries. So many people.
So many thoughts. So many lives. The data is endless,
so she returns the book to its shelf.

The girl does not know a world unbroken, so she searches
for records of what it was like in the before. She does so to
answer a single question: What did the
world used to look like?

But now I hate myself. For a while I tried to shrink your
presence inside me because I couldn't bear the sadness of it,
but that was such an empty thing to do.
So instead, I think of your face. Your voice.

Soon, though, I found more and more of you inside me.
And after Mom died, and I had to take care of you?
Well, after that, I couldn't imagine a life without you.

Mom had been so nice, but that all changed with you.
"You're the big sister now!" she would say. And each time,
I felt like you were stealing her away from me.

I try to think of you every morning. Today, I thought
about the day you were born. To be honest,
I was a little upset about it.

I did a terrible thing to her, and when I cried in my regret,
she leaned over and hugged me. Why is she so kind?
Where did she even learn that?
"You told me to be a kind person, Mommy."

I didn't cry, because I'm your daughter. When she came home
injured, I held her. It was all so awful—who would
hurt a good girl like that? It's all the system's fault.

Your daughter is so capable! Her parents clearly raised her
right. I feel like I'm tricking people. We've never taught her
anything of consequence—our daughter's just naturally clever.

Your daughter is such a nice, kind girl. She must get it
from her mother! I get uncomfortable whenever
people say that, because I'm not a nice person at all.

Yet my sisters are why I stand here now. Flowers bloom
wildly around me—the same ones I once saw and heard
of in letters. Whenever I see that hut made of white crystal,
a smile comes to me and I say, "Thank you. I'm home."

I lost my memory, my parents, and a normal life. In exchange,
I got the hearty body of a weapon and many younger sisters
who saved me from loneliness.
But the day I got my memory back, it all shattered.

There were no flowers in the research facility, but
Mom wrote letters, and Dad was always by my side.
Eventually Mom stopped writing, and Dad got more
haggard. I lost my life. Became a new "me." Time dragged on.

When I was small, I loved the flowers planted beside our
hut. I'd smile at them, and Mom and Dad would be charmed
by how much energy I had despite my frailty.
But then I had to leave home for treatment.

The boy woke up to find his sister dead, her stomach torn open.
Realizing he was no longer hungry, he began to vomit violently.
As he heaved, he prayed his sister might see their parents again.

I don't want to be hungry anymore! wrote the brother.
He went to bed terribly excited, but once he fell asleep,
the sister secretly added,
"And I want to see Mommy and Daddy again."

One day, a wizard appeared. "Use this magic
quill to write down a wish," he said.
"I will make it come true—but only once." The brother
and sister were delighted, and happily took the black quill.

Once upon a time there was a brother and sister.
Their parents died in an epidemic, so they had
to scramble for food each day.
It had been a long time since they'd had hot soup or soft bread.

Decades later, the boy leans on me. We've been through
many battles together, but now my purpose is as his
walking stick. It is the first time I've ever witnessed
such an end, and it is surprisingly decent.

The boy finds work as a soldier-for-hire. With no relatives,
he takes on miscellaneous tasks. He finds allies,
defeats his adversaries, and widens his area of activity.

As I see it, his defensive spells are immature. I've had
several owners, and have parted ways with
dozens—nay, hundreds of people.
And I know I will one day witness this boy's last day as well.

This city is a dump where children orphaned by war come
to wander. I am a staff covered in dust. One day,
I meet a boy. He uses me to teach himself
defensive spells so he might survive a dark future.

I love you I love you I love you

The many years I spent with you
keep me ruthless and cruel

I love you I love you I love you

The whole of your life nourishes
my newly blossoming heart

I love you I love you I love you

Your warmth soothes the grief
I carry for the child I lost

I love you I love you I love you

The trembling of my body instantly
stops when you fight by my side

The next day, the fisherman began to fear the sea,
for the fish he ate had somehow wormed its way
into his head. "I told you bad things would
happen if you ate me!" cried the fish in his mind.

Keeping the fish secret, the hungry fisherman went
to a secret place and cooked it. "Nothing good will
come of eating me," said the fish as the man
devoured it. Oh, but it tasted divine!

The fisherman was delighted, for he only ever caught
small fish that barely staved off hunger.
But the fish said, "Good things will
happen if you return me to the sea!"

Once, in a rustic village, a fisherman caught an unusual fish.
It was big as a whale, shone silver in the light, was covered
in tasty fat—and could speak!
"Please don't eat me!" cried the fish.

"Another woman" turned out to be a beautifully ornate sword.
My husband marches into battle with her in hand as my
mechanical body lay in storage, awaiting maintenance.
Men are so easily distracted by a pretty face.

There's something amiss with my husband. One day, my
intuition kicked in—is it another woman? Once more into
the breach, distrust clouded my mind. And yet I fought all the
same, and fell victim to a wound from which I've yet to recover.

Fresh scars adorn the old. Where once my husband
could cleave our foes with little effort, he is now
clearly burdened. No longer able to push himself to
his limits, he's become distant and miserable.

Our fourth battle. Once more am I and my dear
husband sent to the frontlines.
The countless scars we proudly bear are proof of our tenacity.

The black bird glared at ■■ th■■■■h the rain, ■■■■■■■■ me
back to ■■■■■■■. I c■■■■n't l■t t■■■ be ■■e end. I ■■d
t■ ■■■ o■t of h■■■—I had to ■■■■■■■.

The storm washed the ■■■■■ away.
I'd ■■■■ed the ■■■■■■■, but the girl's ■■■■■■
was broken. Nothing ■■■■■■■■ now.
And as desp■■■■■■■ claimed me, a black bird appeared.

The ■■■■ rocked violently in the storm as men worked
desperately to keep it intact. I slipped past them
toward the bow of the ship. Toward the ■■■■■■■.
Then I plunged the ■■■■■ into him.

He put his plan in motion that day, the knife trembling
in his small hand. I killed the captain. I wanted to
save the girl he was abusing so we could flee together.
I dreamed of that moment.

Your calm voice calls out to me, and I can't help
wondering—how would it sound in battle?
Would it be a triumphant shout? Or would it be
your very last utterance, cursing the age of war?

Warm blood pulses through your body, and I can't help
wondering—would you spill it on the battlefield?
Would it splatter and dye your enemies?

Your warm hand grips mine, and I can't help wondering—can
it wield a blade? How would you tear through the flesh of your foes?

You smile at me, and I can't help wondering—can that smile
become twisted and demonic? Does a demon lurk within you?

A father's hand. A mother's eyes. Family. Love.
I should not know these things.
Yet I do know. Because my sister knew.
And our memories are one.

I swim, seawater seeping into me.
My breathing stops. I struggle. I drown.

And then someone pulls me up.

Vast azure. Whispering waves. Salt spray.
I breathe them all in. And I run.

I should know nothing, yet I know.
Because I know my sister.
I see her memories.

A gun was recently unearthed that posed no threat with
bullets in the magazine, so people decided to turn it
into a children's toy instead. Sounds like the
"Water Gun" will be going on sale next summer!

Yet while mass-production of the water guns could
revolutionize the world, the engineer knew how
dangerous that would be—so he kept his
invention a secret throughout his life.

One must not underestimate the power of water, for the
gun was powerful enough to take lives. One shot could
blow the leg off a target, or even
pierce a hole in a whale's stomach.

There was once an engineer who invented a kind of
water gun. Though no stronger than a children's toy if
loaded with bullets, it showed its true power
when filled with water.

#縺薙##％縺ｯ譚#･縺ｦ####縺ｯ縺?￠縺ｪ縺###??ｴ謇?縺?#縺｣縺
#ゅｂ#縺?綾##繧後↑##縺??ょｸｰ繧翫###◆縺#############

#FirstShrineVisit #AtNightBut #WhySoManyBirds
#WeirdSpot #CrazyDarkHere #SomewhereNotInMyMapApp?
#WeakSignal #FoundSomething #WhatIsThis?

#HappyNewYear #OutAndAbout #LoveMyRide
#SuperSudden #GoingAnyway #WayTooColdOut
#HappyToHang #LeavingAtNight #HypeAsHeck

#WinterBreak #SchoolFinallyOver #GetTogether #NoPlans
#SomebodyHangOutWithMe #Bored
#WantANewPhone #Holidays

She found the prince on a ship at sea and brandished
her blade. The prince screamed. Yet what, in the end,
did the mermaid cut?

Yet the mermaid was plagued by doubt; did she really have
the courage to split her own tail? At last, worried that her
prince might fall in love with someone else,
she made up her mind.

Troubled, the mermaid visited a witch who took pity on
her plight and gave her a sword. If she split her own tail
in two with it, said the witch, it would turn into
legs and she would be human.

Once, a mermaid princess of the sea fell in love with a
land-dwelling human prince. Alas, they both knew it would
be difficult for them to be together, for they lived in
vastly different worlds.

Finally, the shark encountered the human prince and
mermaid princess together on a ship, and leapt forth
without a second thought. But what, in the end,
did the shark leap toward?

Yet the shark was plagued by doubt; could he truly save
this detestable human? Indeed, the mermaid was in
love with the human prince, so how could he
possibly save the life of his rival?

Troubled, the shark visited a witch who took pity on his
plight and cast a spell upon him. If he saved the life of
the human prince that he despised,
he would be reborn as a merman.

Once, a shark fell in love with a sea-dwelling mermaid
princess. Alas, he knew it would be difficult for them to
be together, for they were of two different species.

I'm the only one left alive. I'm lost. Lost. Lost.
Why am I always the sole survivor? I've stopped
looking for answers. Instead, I'll take this chance
and keep going, until the day we meet once again.

Those at my side seek revenge as I do, and we use each
other's skills to achieve that end—or so I thought.
I work best alone, but then why?
Why do I feel this way when one of us dies?

I took many to my side in search of revenge;
I had no choice but to assume the role of leader.
All I can think of is the fussy captain I once had,
for I now understand the grief we put him through.

Even were I to achieve vengeance,
I have no home to return to, so I kill and I kill and I kill.
But people will eventually forget me, and I will die in oblivion.
This is an end which suits me.