Sara Lorojin, the Shell Game Girl (2)
These days, Sara's daily routine had changed dramatically. The reason was obvious, without needing to ask.
"You're here again today...?"
"Indeed."
Now that she knew his name, Lenoir. It was all because of this customer who visited every day and generously offered up his coins. He always appeared at the same time, in the same demeanor. The only things that changed were the clothes he wore or the type of cane he carried, but those merely served to remind Sara just how wealthy this young, dignified madman truly was.
What on earth does he do for a living? Curiosity bubbled up, but there was never a moment to ask.
"Roll the dice, little Sara."
This customer with his peculiar speech had started calling her 'little Sara' ever since she'd learned his name. He always pulled out coins the moment he arrived, played the shell game, and instead of demanding a reward for guessing right, he asked questions about her. At first, it had been bewildering, but it was great. After all, whether he won or lost, she was raking in money no matter what.
But after a day, two days, three days of this, problems arose.
"Th-that's... I don't have anything else to tell you...!"
It wasn't even valuable information—her name, age, what she usually ate, what she liked and disliked. She'd spilled it all. Bit by bit, she'd handed over every scrap until now there was nothing left.
And did this ghost of a man stop playing just because of that? No way.
"Worry not about that. I still have many questions left, and they shall be ones you can answer with ease."
One thing was certain: this man who saw through any trick in an instant wouldn't hold back out of pity. So now, she couldn't help but think:
What my sisters said... might be true after all?
For the past few days, Sara had consulted her big sisters about this bizarre man who showed up daily.
And they had said:
—He's probably a noble.
—Y-yeah! A noble! I heard rumors—nobles like young girls, so they pay to take them out as lovers!
—Right, right! I heard there are nobles who spend gold just to have dinner with little girls, without even rolling in the sheets!
Humans are shaped by their environment. In Sara Lorojin's world, where she'd learned the ways of the streets from back-alley prostitutes, nobles were pedophiles who threw money around lavishly to date young girls. And at least in terms of behavior, Lenoir fit the bill perfectly.
Money was nice, sure, but not worth more than her life.
"Sorry, sir. I really have nothing left to tell you. If I say more, I might get in trouble..."
She was slyly gathering the cups on the table, ready to pack up and end the game.
"From now on, two silver coins per game."
Her ears perked up!
"Little Sara, I know how dearly you love these humble coppers. No burdensome questions—I promise. Now roll the dice."
Clatter.
The betting amount had doubled.
"Ah, even so..."
"Then four."
Quadrupled.
"W-well, in that case, I guess I have no choice... No!"
"I dislike the tedium of haggling. Let us settle on one silver coin."
Roll roll roll!
...A hundredfold.
By then, Sara was staring at the coin rolling across the table, her eyes glazed over, drool trickling from her mouth. It was silver. Silver that gleamed brighter than the bald head of Moldric at the back-alley tavern.
With those, how many loaves of bread? Not just any bread—freshly baked ones with meat. No, enough for a meat-bun party with her big sisters.
Money was good. More money was better. Its allure could strip away reason and judgment from a human, especially from a girl who'd grown up without parents, hustling shell games on the streets at such a young age.
Sell her personal info for silver coins to a noble. Regret it forever. The choice was crystal clear.
"Hehe... Sir, what do you want to know?"
Sara tucked the silver coin into her bosom, showing perfect submission. At that moment, she would've handed over her liver and gall bladder to Lenoir.
In response, Lenoir said:
"Roll the dice, little Sara. Every action must follow due process and yield proper results."
"Yes sir!"
Sara mixed the cups with a dopey grin, not even thinking about winning. Even then, Lenoir simply stared piercingly at her vacant smile with an expressionless face.
Sara Lorojin, 15 years old. An orphan without parents, raised by back-alley prostitutes, a shell game hustler. And the soul of the goddess who had descended to the lowest place.
There was no trace of the goddess's benevolence or nobility anywhere in her. In Lenoir's eyes, what sat there was a pitiful creature trading her own footprints for a few coins.
The gap was chillingly hollow, yet her existence was precious. Sara Lorojin was Lenoir's sole sustenance in this world.
Thus, even now that he'd come to understand every aspect of her life, Lenoir could not stop visiting her.
Roll—
"Between meat and fish, which do you prefer?"
"I've never eaten fish! Sir!"
Roll—
"Then between pork and beef, which?"
"I've only ever had ground chicken! Sir!"
Roll—
"What is your most painful memory?"
"When I got caught cheating and got beaten! Sir!"
"Who beat you?"
"Huh? I don't know! But that's two questions..."
Clink!
"Hehe, thank you, sir!"
Questions could be squeezed out endlessly. Just thirty minutes a day. Lenoir repeated these meaningless queries, etching her smile onto his retinas, then left as his routine.
It was supposed to be a passing village, but before he knew it, Lenoir had become the longest-staying guest at the town's inn.
Her question-and-answer routine was mostly comical, sometimes frustrating. Sara was the epitome of the poor from history as Lenoir remembered it—textbook poverty. It reminded him of his failed attempts in the past.
These vulgar mortals could never be reached by a satiated salvation. It drove the realization home again and again.
Such days stretched past two weeks.
Today, too, Lenoir sought her out without even understanding his own desires.
But that day, Sara wasn't there at her usual time.
Lenoir stood before the empty, rickety wooden table, leaning on his cane. An ill feeling stirred.
In that instant, to his own surprise, anxiety flooded his chest. He knew the ends poor girls like her met all too easily. Their lives were candles in the wind—yesterday's existence a lie as they rushed toward death.
Countless short lives he'd witnessed flashed by, and Lenoir's expression subtly twisted.
His gaze turned toward the alley's depths. Just as his feet began to move unwittingly—
"Aigoo! Sir! Sorry I'm late!"
Sara came barreling out from somewhere, panting.
"Hehe, it's ration day today! I forgot to tell you yesterday!"
"...Rations?"
"Yes! There's an Orin Church branch nearby! On the first and the fifteenth, they hand out bread! Can't miss it, so I lined up... ugh, missed the first batch today!"
Sara squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, looking utterly at peace. It was a relief it was nothing serious, but the displeasure that hit him upon hearing it was far from small.
"You take fodder from a cult, little Sara."
"Huh? Cult? The Orin Church is a state-recognized religion!"
"It is a cult. They serve no true god."
All religions in this era were cults. The creators of this land had vanished with the end of myth, leaving souls like the girl before him stripped of their radiance. What else could the churches that arose afterward be? They gathered the blind faith of fools, called it a god, and preached false doctrines—heretics, nothing more.
Lenoir had once delved deeply into the phenomenon. Mortal faith did forge something akin to divinity, but it was no god. Omniscient nor omnipotent—a mere spirit. That was the true nature of the gods these mortals worshipped.
No matter how many times he tried, it would repeat. Naturally.
Only a soul qualified from the beginning can contain the stature of creation. Yes, like this girl...
His thoughts reached that point.
He froze.
A sudden idea had flashed through his mind.
...A prepared vessel?
Lenoir stared at Sara as she giggled, thanking him for coming again and setting up her spot.
The girl was the goddess's reincarnation. Souls were immutable even to gods, so she already possessed the qualifications to gather faith and become a god.
Thus, Lenoir couldn't help but think:
If this already-qualified girl were to receive the faith of mortals.
If her body, stripped of radiance and authority, could be refilled with them.
Then, perhaps.
"Come on~! Sir! Pick one! It's the game where you bet money and get questions!"
...He might meet his one true god again, whom he'd thought lost forever.
His thoughts reached that point.
Lenoir's heart began to pound with aching intensity. Blood surged, and the world sharpened into vivid clarity. It felt just like that.