“Humans all harbor desires deep in their hearts that they have craved from birth. As they live and die, the number of these desires grows so foolishly numerous that counting them is pointless. No matter what one does, these desires never vanish. Pretending to control them, claiming to have long transcended such bonds and now merely giving thanks for what they have while praying to the gods—all of that is nothing more than an act.”
“We look up with reverence to those who have shed their desires, who claim to have cast them aside and to be grateful for the life and gifts they have been given. But is that truly the case? Do you know what is reflected in the eyes of the people—of your kind, scurrying like ants below?”
“I can see it. No, all who sit upon thrones know it. Rulers, lords, great nobles, territorial lords—they all know. Even as they hide their desires, cast them off, pray to the gods, and feign humility with thanks, one unchanging truth remains. You humans cannot shed your desires. Because you cannot possess them, because you lack the power, because you cannot seize them and boast to all—that is why you merely pretend enlightenment. The moment you turn away, you scheme to make another’s possessions your own and act cunningly. Death and destruction are mere byproducts of that.”
Thud. Thud. Thud… Red Stone spoke as he walked along the now-useless, meaningless spell circle.
At the center of the invisible circle lay Garland Hamilton, collapsed. He remained utterly still, like a corpse, without twitching a single finger, yet Red knew the young holy knight of Elon was still alive.
Garland Hamilton, Elon’s champion, had not yet given up.
He clung to life with breaths so faint they seemed ready to cease at any moment, waiting for a miraculous instant.
But it would not work.
From the start, had not Garland poured his entire lifespan into it and still failed to reach him?
Now that he had swallowed Hokhma, how could a mere mortal—at best a proxy of Elon—hope to prevail by ramming his head against him?
It was impossible. A more futile effort than trying to crack a rock with an egg.
“Yes, you’re listening, aren’t you? Waiting to see what I say, when I might let my guard down.”
Now he knew. The taste and flavor contained within human souls.
Their sweetness.
He had learned that the desperate longing of humans—who strive to climb insurmountable mountains and reach for unattainable stars in the night sky—holds a rich, profound, and utterly unique flavor.
The King of Bers now understood why Hokhma had descended to this place, to the colosseum.
The Hokhma that had rampaged as if to collapse the colosseum, devouring people and inhaling their souls, was now dead. All that power had fallen into the hands of a single mortal.
The divinity of Hokhma—who had, since ancient times, granted bits of starlit power to the leaders of the Black Lands and the great ones—had become his own.
Having come to know the grandeur and sanctity of a “god” in this way, Red Stone was filled with boundless mercy.
Even toward one who had sought to take his life, he felt not the slightest urgency to end him immediately.
‘Ah, what a sweet emotion… A unique flavor produced by souls that yield a rich, profound, and special taste—one that cannot be obtained from dead souls alone. Now I savor not water and food, but the souls of mortals and their emotions…’
The King of Bers now understood where true mercy came from.
Heavenly gods. Arrogant, immortal beings. Did we appear so powerless and insignificant in your eyes as you looked down upon us?
…Yet I forgive you. For now, I too am like you…
“Hoo―oo.”
Red gazed at the “remains of Hokhma” standing motionless like a doll in the half-destroyed colosseum.
Perhaps because he had swallowed the silver owl god. Red could no longer smile as humans did.
Even from the flesh of the “human Red Stone,” Hokhma’s cry leaked out. Hearing it, Garland coughed up blood and spoke.
“Heh heh… Obtaining a god’s power? …A human… becoming… a god? Bu… bullshit… so long-winded… and…”
“You cur!”
As Garland barely managed to raise himself with what strength remained, Red shouted, unable to hide his embarrassment.
The silver owl flapping its wings beside him like an extension of himself responded to Red’s emotions, stirring up wind.
Stars flashed, and the heat burned stones and crushed human corpses.
Garland could not escape that light and heat either. Elon’s power was now nearly exhausted, reduced to mere embers. So precarious that a single breath might snuff it out.
‘Should I kill him?’
The thought arose. It would not be an exaggeration to say he had already obtained everything he could from this son of Tolland.
The emotions emitted by Elon’s holy knight had grown faint, turning into the stench of rotting corpses, and even if he poured his soul into Elon’s blessing to cling to life, he could not recapture the flavor he had just tasted.
‘Regrettable as it is… there are plenty of humans left to devour. The continent overflows with them. To be dragged around by one young thing like this would diminish a god’s dignity.’
Garland Hamilton. There was nothing left that he could do to him now.
Elon’s holy knight had been defeated, his mission had failed, and the fervor he had kindled by burning his soul in defiance was fading into dying embers.
A yellowed leaf does not revive… All that remained was to end the breath of a wretched human who had failed to become a hero.
Like all mortals, the young and brave Garland Hamilton had merely reached his end.
‘Yes. I will kill him. There is nothing to regret. I, unbound by heavenly rules, am the sole god now descended upon the earth. Though I have not yet fully made Hokhma’s power my own, that is merely a matter of time. There is no reason to obsess over a single human like this…’
Death, perhaps, is the ultimate mercy.
Red extended his hand and seized Garland’s soul. The once-youthful Garland, now reduced to a white-haired old man, could not resist.
His soul still clung to the sticky remnants of Elon’s blessing in a futile attempt to fight back, but it was pointless.
“Ah, ah…”
“The life you struggled through—born, growing, learning, striving—and your soul and emotions… I will not forget them.
I will likely remember for a hundred or two hundred years. Farewell, Garland Hamilton. Your soul existed for me until the very last speck. You may take pride in that.”
“Aaah…”
Was this all the power of Elon he had hidden until the very end? Merely this?
Red watched as what had once been “Garland Hamilton” lost form, turning into fine sand and vanishing completely.
Ephemeral, ephemeral, endlessly ephemeral… Yet to perpetuate this ephemerality is surely the true duty of a god.
Red Stone—no, the new god who had swallowed Hokhma—pursued those still alive and trying to escape the colosseum.
‘Ah, I am hungry. So hungry I cannot bear it. I must devour souls, souls!’
Red now understood why Hokhma had taken interest in his colosseum, why it had descended from the heavens to swallow people alive and gulp down their souls like a parched traveler drinking water.
Hokhma had truly been an evil god. One unworthy of worship, unqualified to receive it.
Many had died, and countless others were fleeing the colosseum and the city, but hunting them down would become a form of amusement.
Red rose to leave the collapsed underground.
“…Huh?”
Hoo? The silver owl, staggering alongside the “human” body, let out a cry. Something incomprehensible, inexplicable was happening.
Red felt a nauseous churning and collapsed forward, retching. Ueegh―!
Though no longer human, though he had cast off mortal limits, something unpleasant and foul kept writhing within him.
“No way.”
Garland, you bastard?
Red struggled to vomit out the persistent discomfort as a burning sensation flared inside him. But it defied a god’s will, wriggling ever deeper into his core.
And with every movement of that tiny ember, Red felt excruciating pain.
“Garland… Elon… you bastards…!!”
Hoo―oo―oo! Burned from within by Elon’s flame, Red could only curl up and thrash in agony.
It was wrong. He pinched his cheek, held his breath, closed his eyes for a long while and opened them—yet it remained this unidentified garden.
The fluffy animals wandering without fear of humans even approached him, licking his hands and face with their tongues or rubbing their bodies against him vigorously.
“What on earth is this…”
“It is no dream, Sir Paramir. This is Elon’s garden. The place where the dead come.”
“Elon’s garden? Where the dead…?”
Does that mean I’m dead? Stunned, he stared at Priest Moriah, who smiled brightly.
Dead? What nonsense is this, Priest? Me, dead!
“Ah, there is no need to worry yet, Sir Paramir. Regrettably (Priest Moriah’s voice did not sound the least bit regretful), I am dead, but you are not yet.
It seems you have kept the relic I gave you safe and sound.”
“The relic… Ah, could it be that? Wait, more importantly—you’re saying you’re dead?!”
He had hoped it was not true. But really dead? No, more than that—are you truly Priest Moriah?
“I am the Moria you know. The librarian of Mosul and a priest of the Elon Sect. I did not give it to you in preparation for this… but still, I am truly grateful to Elon for allowing us to meet again like this.
Sir Paramir, how about serving Elon? If even in death one can spend time in such a peaceful and cozy place, serving and believing in Him does not seem so bad, does it? Occasionally enjoying tea time with one’s wife would not be unpleasant either.”
He could not grasp what was being said or the situation he was in.
His mind could not keep up, so he simply looked at Priest Moriah with bewildered eyes. This sturdy, devout priest of Elon was preaching faith in Elon even in death! Truly consistent! What an impressive man!
“Priest Moriah. S-Surely… I’m not really… dead… am I?”
“It could be, or it could not. Shall we walk for a bit? This place is ordinarily inaccessible to the living or those who do not serve Lord Elon… but you are special.
Experiencing heaven in advance would be good for you as well.”
Priest Moriah extended a hand to the dazed, lying Paramir and helped him up. With a foolish expression, still unable to comprehend this dreamlike situation, Paramir moved as led.
‘Could I… really be dead?’
An ominous premonition crept over him.