[ Jugram watches him with indifference: to the raising of his voice, the naïveté, the frantic appeal as though the idea of collateral damage is a new one he simply hasn't considered. He lets him finish, then lets a half second of silence hang in which the boy will hopefully collect himself. Of course he doesn't understand—that part doesn't remotely surprise Jugram, and that, unlike the flagrant blasphemy, isn't enough to raise his hackles. No matter what he thinks he knows, he's repeating what he's been told, not what he's personally borne witness to.

The fact alone that he refers to it as a grudge, as something in the past—his horror in the fringe casualties to be expected of any war, no matter how righteous—says that several times over. ]

How many civilians do you think your friends killed, Kurosaki? How many women and children? Should murderers escape all retribution, all punishment for their sins, because the actions they brought into being have collateral damage? [ His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly. ] 'Karma.' 'God's will.' 'Predetermination.' Humans have their own words for this because you too understand that there must be balance. The deaths that are to come as a result were sealed into the fate of the world a long time ago. They chose this. Not us.