The World After the Hero (1)
Even after the Hero headed off to paradise, the world kept changing at a rapid pace. There were all sorts of shifts, but the first thing worth mentioning is... public safety, I suppose.
The chaos brought by monsters had settled down thanks to the Hero's exploits. Humans, who once fell helplessly to those beasts, watched the Hero beat them into submission and started seeing monsters as huntable creatures. Hmm, I hadn't really anticipated that—I'd just sent the Hero out to clear out some particularly tough ones. But hey, if the results are good, does it matter how we got there?
Humans began hunting monsters en masse. For beasts too strong for individuals, they formed armies. To take down really powerful ones, you needed soldiers trained specifically for combat, not hastily conscripted farmers. That led to the rise of professional standing armies.
These professional soldiers bolstered national militaries and, during peacetime or lulls in monster hunts, were deployed for maintaining order. No more makeshift guards; now we had proper, trained troops handling security. Sure, guards had existed before, but the old ones—untrained folks just manning gates—were worlds apart from these new ones focused on actual law enforcement.
Anyway, with more guards patrolling, they not only repelled monsters encroaching on human lands but also secured the main roads. Travel routes became safer than ever. Before, pilgrims from the Temple of Life had kept paths clear during their journeys... but honestly, the world is vast, and there are only so many of them. Not all pilgrims were dragons, either—human ones often faced dangers, even if they could handle lesser monsters.
By redirecting off-duty troops to policing and road security, traffic improved dramatically for humans and various sub-races. Merchants used to haul massive loads on their backs or drag handcarts everywhere. But with safer roads and advances in animal husbandry, horse- or ox-drawn wagons became common.
Logistics flowed smoothly as a result, and goods that once couldn't travel far started spreading widely. The big winners? Lizardmen making papyrus, Procyon's scroll-crafting mages, and dwarves selling ironware. These were regional specialties with limited production, now riding the waves of trade.
Elves? Eh, not so much. They did some leatherworking from hunt spoils, but that's standard for any hunter—not exactly a unique export, so no big profits.
Ahem, let's skip the elves for now. Starting with papyrus.
Before papyrus spread, records were etched into clay tablets and fired, scribbled on wooden slabs with charcoal, or splurged on pricey parchment. Papyrus changed everything. Easier to write on than clay, lighter than wood, cheaper than parchment. Sure, pricier than the cheap stuff, but those were too cumbersome anyway. And thanks to the Lizardmen's massive output, even well-off households could afford a scroll or two.
What got written on this papyrus? Mostly stories. Tales carved on clay, flights of imagination, accounts carried by pilgrims from afar. Copying others' scrolls boomed, turning them into primitive books.
Papyrus had its limits—production was regional, so distribution was spotty. But post-Hero, with logistics booming, supply exploded. People started scribbling down every tale they knew: real events, Hero-inspired epics, pure human fiction, stories born of longing for higher beings. New myths emerged alongside the old ones.
The most common? Stories about me... the Life Goddess. Hero tales came next. Probably because Life Temple pilgrims roamed the world helping folks, channeling their faith into these narratives.
As stories about me proliferated and faith swelled, I discovered something new. You could artificially create a god through opinion manipulation among humans. Side effect: perceptions layered onto existing divine beings.
And the main target? Me, of course.
For example, if the belief "The Life Goddess nurtures countless lives with her boundless mercy" spreads far and wide, it subtly reshapes me too—making me want to care for the world's life. Hmm. That explains why I went from mildly interested in "life stuff" to feeling real responsibility for it.
Makes sense—methods to birth new gods from nothing would work on existing ones too. Look at the Cloud Whale; it gained sapience and divinity that way. But I couldn't keep absorbing faith unaltered forever. Not that it's bad, but changing myself? Kinda problematic. I want to stay me.
Get stuck in the Life Goddess mask and unable to remove it? No thanks. Mask... yeah, masks. Persona, right? Existing as myself while swapping masks by situation. Could that let me hold multiple divinities at once? Might minimize faith's warping effects while still reaping benefits.
Saving that thought for later. Papyrus spread fueled faith and folklore far and wide.
Next up: scrolls. Let's talk mage-made ones.
Wielding mana to bend reality was mages' domain. They manipulated it instinctively, without grasping principles—just because they could. To overcome that, researching mages documented their spells on parchment or papyrus, birthing magic scrolls.
Suddenly, non-mages could cast too. Procyon—Babel back then—raked in wealth. Sure, Babel Tower crumbled in some mess later, but that's another story.
The fall to Procyon didn't hurt scroll sales. Better logistics meant more customers; mages used profits to ramp production, buy up young talents, import new blood, and keep researching. Eventually, they cracked spellcasting without scrolls—turning instinct into proven theory and knowledge.
Basic spells emerged. Nothing flashy—instinct hurled fireballs; basics sparked tiny flames. Lift objects with feeble telekinesis, conjure dim orbs, summon a cup of water, blow a breeze. Meager, but a monumental first step. Mages formalized their innate magic into teachable knowledge.
Sure, it drained your mana, but everyone has some life force mana. Not a huge barrier. Though non-mages still couldn't—just mages refining their arsenal, like swapping fireballs for water cups. Explaining the inexplicable, codifying it: that's the dawn of human magic.