Chapter 37
With Yasle's death, the cult called the Church of Future Hope came to an end.
The fighting, though, went on long after Yasle was gone. This was no game, where the boss's death rolls the credits on a victory. If anything, what followed was busier still — all the more so because three kingdoms had been running side by side toward a single aim.
The Kingdom of Ancelus had all but collapsed, but the Kingdom of Lasbe and the Kingdom of Cogni were still standing, and they promptly fell to quarreling over where the spoils began and where they ended. A cult, true to form, had been cradling a great hoard of treasure. People cannot live on faith alone. Faith only fills the way it should when it comes with a gift simple enough to understand, and so a great many very fine things lay scattered about, including in the place where I had been living.
Which left only one thing to do. Plunder.
Tisha and the people of Ancelus simply watched it happen. Rebecca, unexpectedly, made for no kingdom at all. She left alone, without a word. Some among the Ancelus folk said she ought to be stopped, but Tisha let her go. Instead they turned south, meaning to return to Ancelus. The heart of the kingdom had already fallen, though they didn't know it yet, and so they simply set one foot before the other and started for home.
Witga, meanwhile, gathered those who followed him and went to meet Andrew's subordinates. There he offered them a choice. The Church of Future Hope was finished — would they follow him, or would they go on believing? Everyone who chose the Church of Future Hope died. Of course, once he had killed about five of them as an example, the rest abandoned Future Hope on the spot and converted to a new faith called the Church of Miriga.
They were people who had drifted into Future Hope because they had nothing to begin with. Give them somewhere new to cling to, and they will change ropes whenever they please.
Andrew, for his part, has a remarkably stubborn hold on life. He fled alone and slipped out of my sight, only to be caught in it again before long. One of his close aides suddenly summoned one of the blessed, offered no explanation at all, and simply took them away — and Andrew was waiting at the end of that road. It seems he will be reunited with Witga safely enough.
And last of all, Wide, who is still tearing through the outskirts of the capital, hauling supplies into the royal castle.
That is the story up to the moment just before I released the knowledge I had gained.
I pushed Yasle's knowledge, all at once, into everyone connected to me.
Warmth flowed in. Fifteen people's worth. I had it.
Hnnn? No. That — they can't withstand this?
The ones who could see and hear, from where they stood, places the naked eye could never reach clutched their heads, screamed, and died. The rest of the blessed, spared that particular gift, only grabbed at their ears or their skulls as if struck by a ringing in the ears.
There is a problem. Then I have to find the cause and solve it.
And the corpses? Follow what happened up to the moment of death, and their brains were simply melting down like soup. Anyone can see they failed to endure the information I pushed into them. Is it a matter of incompatible specifications? Considering it was part of Yasle's memory to begin with, there is no reason it shouldn't fit inside a human head.
So I need another method. If I edit out the memories I need, cut them fine, and push them in a little at a time, wouldn't that do? But then how long would it take? I looked while I was editing the memory itself, and there is quite a lot of it. I still have the experience of forcing in the words Outer God, so a short phrase is fine — but once it reaches a certain length, problems appear, don't they? What am I supposed to do if the amount I can push in is small?
Experiment. I have to experiment. And just in case, I need to increase the number of the blessed, the same way I have been doing all along, so that they don't explode. The sensation of bestowing a blessing is still with me.
Let me summarize. Inject the knowledge required to summon me. Bless more people. Two things. Both of them matter to me.
First, shall I reach for the trembling light floating just above the surface?
Like a video of falling water played in reverse, a thin stream climbs upward. There, instead of pushing myself in at once, I speak the line I give at every contract. But he doesn't understand.
Ah. Right. Of course. The language is different. Language matters.
So what do I do? Shall I lick the light first? Carefully — more softly than in the days when I used to lay blessings down — I touch the light. And then, a lick.
This person's name is Eunjae. The memories came in. The world he lives in is much like a murim tale: there is a technique for gathering a special energy, people take up swords and fly, and now and then light spills from the blade. A world full of people like that. But I learned the language.
Was speech always something you could pick up this easily? I'm not sure. It won't hinder what I have to do right now, so I use it as it is. I match my words again and put the question to him in the language he knows.
He said he would swear me anything. If I gave him power enough for revenge, he would do whatever I asked.
Oh? I don't believe I ever said I was giving him power. What is he looking at, to talk like that? Well, of course it's true that a person grows stronger when I bestow a blessing. I was still choosing my words, thinking I would have to persuade him if he hesitated, and he agreed at once.
Yes. Then it is a contract.
I laid my blessing on him. Please don't burst. Please don't burst.
Ah! It worked. Our gazes connected. I am seeing the world through his eyes, so I can't say precisely how he has changed, but his skin has certainly turned white. Which means it is much the same as before.
He looks down at his own body and murmurs, "Is this Marrow Cleansing?"
He shifts a few times, then cries out in shock, "Bone Forging?"
So that was what this was. Murim stories certainly have ideas along those lines. But this really is murim. How fascinating.
He seizes his sword and draws power up out of his abdomen to use it. The dantian, is it? I am watching, turning over old memories gone gray, when he suddenly clutches his head.
Don't tell me there is something wrong with a blessing given from here. Did I misjudge the capacity?
Huh? This time something comes down from his head, and his faintly glowing blade changes into an enormous purple greatsword. He laughs wildly, declaring that he has gained tremendous power. This person. If he is satisfied, well. Whatever.
Unexpectedly, the trouble with bestowing blessings resolved itself rather quickly. From now on, I will do it this way with every light that comes down near the surface. This yields more warmth than an explosion does. Above all, when someone driven to the very brink by deep despair and resignation is given a healthy body and tremendous power, good conduct becomes difficult. They will swing that power. Of that I am certain.
Then only one goal remains: passing on the technique for summoning me.
Simply delivering the memory failed. I suspect the problem is capacity, so I have to compress the knowledge as far as it will go. I need to analyze it. But I don't know how to analyze anything. What am I supposed to do? I can edit that exact portion of the memory, yes — then read it, interpret it, and set it in order. Someday, in a very distant future, I may have to do it that way, but it would be far too hard. I need something easier, and briefer.
First, I confirm what I have. I can give myself to others. Give too much, and they explode. Give just the right amount, and I mutate the body into a more powerful form. I can twist the world. That means I can edit reality — somewhere they call it reality manipulation, a formidable ability — but there is a problem. A simple shape might have been manageable. I was only trying to make a phone, and space cracked. A form appeared that I have no other way to describe: deep rifts, and fractures, as if a heavy object had been set upon a pane of glass. What I cannot do, I ought to regard as something I cannot do.
Then why won't fire work, or a beam of light? Strangely, those I could not manage at all. I suppose my imagination is lacking. And whether this belongs to exactly the same category as that ability, or to an entirely different one, I couldn't say — but I can pass what I know on to others.
The experiments are twofold. First, the short phrase Outer God: a great many people began to use it as if I had been called that from the very beginning. There is a reason I believe this rests on the power to change reality, and not on the blessing that occurs when I give myself away. Even people who had never received my blessing used it as a matter of course.
Guessing from everything I know so far, the blessed who died this time were the ones who could sense as far as places an ordinary person cannot see. People, in other words, better able to read the intentions of others. So did they take in too much, and did the inside of the brain crack the way the world cracked when I tried to make a phone? It is a highly likely hypothesis.
Then I will reduce the capacity. If I divide the memories so they are less complex, the load ought to shrink. I will cut them as fine as I can and put them in. If I confirm the most that will fit, and how short an interval I can repeat it in, I should be able to make them learn a technique capable of summoning me.
Now it is time to experiment. There is more than enough time here. I hope a great many people will be able to call me — call me over and over — as soon as possible.
Hehe.