Firewood (2)
This world is home to a diverse array of races and ethnicities living side by side. That makes it endlessly complicated, with deep cultural differences sparking conflicts since ancient times. Humans naturally discriminate or shoot dirty looks when differences arise. So it's only natural that those conflicts escalate into big and small disputes.
But amid all these differences, there's one thing that can unite the masses: gods. In other words, religion. Religion has wielded enormous influence from the war-torn ancient era right up to the present day. And in this world, the existence of gods is crystal clear. The proof? Holy power. It's the sacred energy granted by the gods themselves, said to be the purest form of mana. Those who wield holy power can unleash far greater strength than other beings. Sure, it comes with the condition of genuine faith, but that's negligible.
Where'd all the gods go? They used to descend in person back in the day. Where are they now?
└Probably went home.
└Home? What home lololol
└No one knows anymore, it's too ancient. Even elves and demons are clueless.
└They just taught humanity magic and mana, then peaced out, I bet.
└They're somewhere, I'm sure. Gods wouldn't be gods for nothing.
Among the countless gods, the most famous is Aris. Goddess of war and wisdom, younger sister to the god of magic, Aragon. There's a supreme god above them—their father—but his influence pales compared to Aris's. She protected humanity from the world's evils during their weakest days. That's why so many worship her, demons included. As a war goddess, she had special appeal for them too.
Gods like Aris have left indelible marks on human history, and that continues today. Nations founded in their worship, like El Dorado, stand as testament.
BAM!
"How in the hell did this happen?! I thought we'd hidden it perfectly!"
A cranky-looking old man slammed his fist on the table, bellowing. His voice was hoarse with age, but the venom in it was unmistakable.
"Did we predict it? Calm down for now, Your Eminence. The masses are just demanding explanations—they don't fully believe it yet."
The old man across from him responded. A lush beard suited him well, but his snakelike eyes radiated malice. His voice was every bit as stubborn as the first man's.
"Cardinal Morgan is right. The people are still waiting for our response."
A man with a distinctive mustache twirled it idly as he spoke, head tilted arrogantly.
They varied in appearance, but shared one trait: pristine white clerical robes that evoked holiness. Gold-embossed patterns, however, hinted at their greed.
"This isn't the time for infighting. Protesters are clamoring outside—we need solutions now."
The voice was stern and solemn, laced with subtle pressure. All eyes turned to the head of the table. Wrinkles etched his face more deeply than the others', yet his eyes burned with youthful vigor—sinister vigor that commanded awe.
"If you have a good idea, speak up."
Luis II, current Pope of the Holy Kingdom of El Dorado, said quietly.
The old men cleared their throats awkwardly under the weighted command. The table-slammer spoke first.
"First, we deny it outright. The only 'evidence' is that Gallery post—what else is there?"
"Cardinal Howard is correct. Gallery posts are infamous for their unreliability."
El Dorado had been in chaos since morning. A Gallery rumor about the Immortal King had spilled into reality.
The Immortal King incident happened just 30 years ago, its scars still raw. Parents who'd lost children, children who'd lost parents. Those who'd lost homes, limbs, everything. They now gathered before the papal palace in protest.
CRASH!!!
The meeting was in secret. Stained glass shattered, shards flying everywhere. The cardinals flinched—then roars erupted from outside.
[Bring back our son! Bring back our son!]
[Are you even clerics?! Do you even believe in the gods?!]
[If you have a tongue, speak up!]
The cries came through the broken window. Their chamber was far from the palace entrance, high up for safety—yet a stone had flown true. No surprise; ex-knights were among the protesters.
"What are you lot doing?! Drag out the stone-thrower!"
"I-it's hard to pinpoint...!"
"You useless fools!!"
Not even the late-arriving holy knights could be blamed. The people's fury burned unchecked.
Just one Gallery post causing all this? But newspapers existed. Media. And media pounced on sensational stories, Gallery bait or not.
We believed in the gods, not you scum! If you have any conscience, step down, Pope! You're defiling Lady Aris!!
El Dorado's poor reputation didn't help. Founded to worship gods, it once projected purity—especially amid Mephisto demons' rampages, positioning it as 'justice.' But demons got hooked on games, rivalries faded, and El Dorado's atrocities surfaced.
Annoying.
Luis II grimaced, pressing his brow. The cardinals watched him warily. He was the most powerful pope in El Dorado's history—one wrong word meant death. Cardinal or not.
"...Any statements from other nations?"
"N-no, Your Holiness! None yet."
"Yet, huh."
As mentioned, El Dorado had committed plenty of atrocities—like invoking gods to bully neighbors, even Alvenheim. El Dorado's will was God's will; defying it made you the world's enemy. The inversion was complete: God's will bent to El Dorado's. Religion's authority bred rot, and the stench had grown unbearable.
"So, any solutions?"
"Pardon?"
"I asked if you have solutions. Keep silent, and leave."
Leaving meant death. The cardinals knew it. They'd clawed their way here—no surrender.
"Flat denial might not work. If a Vulcan Kingdom survivor appears, it'll complicate things."
"We plead helplessness. It's a wartime matter, right? The Immortal King experimented on turning citizens into undead first."
Desperate to dodge the pope's wrath, the cardinals brainstormed. Anyone hearing this would know YasaengGrill's Gallery record was true. No trace of noble faith—just cover-ups.
"Good. We'll go with that."
"The angry masses will repent once they hear our side."
"What about the Gallery?"
The mustached cardinal's words sank the mood. The crisis stemmed from there; who knew what bait would drop next?
"Simple."
Luis smiled uneasily.
"We declare the Gallery evil."
"The Gallery...?"
"Yes. We are blessed by the gods. Our will is God's will. Label it evil, and God does too."
Inversion again. Faith had twisted long ago, drowned by power lust.
"Brilliant. Time to restrict it entirely. Hahaha."
"Nothing more dangerous than the ignorant masses swallowing bad info."
"And it's full of filth, they say. What a world."
They branded the Gallery evil. Of course.
We'll do it anyway.
Just on the sly.
If we don't get caught, it's fine.
Double standards were their passive skill—plausible words only.
After the meeting, a spokesman faced the crowd. The pope should've gone himself; sending a lackey screamed arrogance.
"Heed us, children of the gods! This is all a misunderstanding! The wicked king of Vulcan, the Immortal King, had long experimented on his people with necromancy...!"
Here's the truth: The Immortal King conducted evil experiments on his citizens. The Holy Kingdom detected it early and had no choice but to massacre them. Better to die human than undead, right? All per God's will. Survivors suffer trauma. That explanation calmed some. Not fully convinced, but it was something. Iron faces indeed.
Trust in the Holy Kingdom was already rock bottom—this plunged it deeper.
"The Pope declares the Gallery true evil! Those who believe its lies face severe punishment...!"
"You fucking XXX!!"
"Knew it! Hiding something with that bullshit!!"
"The Gallery?! Wanna lose your heads like Zhongyuan emperors?!?"
"Stop blaming the Gallery! We're sick of it!!!"
Someone once said: There's always a bottom below the bottom. Blaming the Gallery for every issue—old repertoire. Normally: Sigh, those guys again. But rage had boiled over.
"Everyone! Breaking news! Magic King Cardir issued a statement!"
"What? The Magic King?"
"Friend of the previous Hero, right?"
In the chaos, news spread. The spokesman sensed doom—too late.
"The previous Hero didn't die with the Immortal King! He chose death alongside him—due to the Holy Kingdom's pressure and coercion!"
"What the hell?"
"The Hero chose death? Suicide?"
"Can you call it... suicide? It's more like...!"
Cardir poured oil on the flames at the perfect moment.
"Pope, come out! Explain yourself!"
"Bring back my son!"
"Give me back my father!"
The blaze showed no sign of dying.
*****
Meanwhile, in the Four Seasons Forest.
"Cough. Cough! Ugh, did I overdo the firewood?"
YasaengGrill was adding logs for breakfast.