CHAPTER FIVE

After a sudden attack of breathlessness, he coughed.

But what came from his throat was not a cough but water. He heaved violently, and once he was able to breathe again, he bent over, gasping.

“Guh…Geugh…Ack…”

Col kept coughing, as it was painful to breathe in and out. Once his breathing calmed, his throat felt like it was burning.

He did not understand.

Was the afterlife supposed to be this vivid? Was it because he had been unable to enter the kingdom of heaven and had fallen into the underworld?

With this in mind, he looked around. He was in a small and simple stone room that resembled a prison cell with a small fire burning. Apocalyptic winds raged outside, and snow blew in from the windows, open squares cut in the walls. When he took that all in, he shivered.

This was the monastery. Col was in Autumn’s monastery.

A sudden chill ran down his spine that was not due to the cold. Had everything that just happened been a dream? Had he simply been sleeping in the monastery? When he jumped onto the dock from the boat, had he slipped and fallen into the sea?

That was the only explanation that made sense. Because he had fallen into the water, and then…

“Myuri!”

He finally understood what he saw before him.

There, Myuri lay on her side. There was no sign of life in her pale face, and her entire body was soaked.

“Myuri! Myuri!”

He screamed her name and shook her, but she did not open her eyes. Rather, when her head limply rolled to the side, water spilled from her lips.

With a nauseous feeling of despair, he pried open her lips with his fingers and turned her over. Water emptied from her mouth, but her breath did not return.

Before calling for God’s help, what crossed his mind was the war story he heard from the mercenary company that inherited Myuri’s name. Not all those whose hearts stopped were fated to die. If she did not move, then he would move her himself.

He smacked Myuri’s back as hard as he could. It was like he was trying to wake her. He hit her back many, many times, and when water finally stopped coming out of her mouth, her body shivered and she began to cough.

“Myuri!”

He called her name, but she did not open her eyes. He lowered his ear to her mouth, and he could hear the faint sound of her breath. But her body was growing cold like ice. He had to warm her.

He stared at the fire as though begging it for help. The faint flame danced upon only a few skinny pieces of driftwood.

“Hmm, you are lucky.”

He almost jumped around in shock when he heard the sudden voice.

It was Autumn, looking out from the next room.

“Y-you’re…Why…?”

“This is my monastery.”

Autumn spoke quietly and tossed him a tattered blanket.

“This is all I have here.”

Then he turned his back to Col and withdrew.

The blanket smelled moldy and was wet from the seawater, but it was better than nothing. Myuri had inhaled quite a lot of water; he removed the sash around her waist, wrung the water out of her hair, removed her shirt, and wrapped her in the blanket.

Her lips were beyond blue and were so pale he could not see the difference between that and her skin.

He desperately rubbed her with the blanket she was wrapped in, but there was no visible effect.

“Please hold on,” he said to her and stood up.

But as Col rose, violent dizziness immediately assaulted him. He crashed into the wall and threw up on the spot. What came out was salty seawater. As it left his body, he wondered where all this water was being stored inside of him. That was the moment he finally realized that they had indeed fallen from the boat into the water and nearly drowned.

But he had no memory of how they managed to get here, nor could he imagine why such a thing had happened.

When he was finished, not waiting for his breathing to recover, he crawled into the next room, and Autumn was there, fiddling with a figure of the Black-Mother.

“Do you have something—something I can burn?” he pleaded.

With the tip of his chisel, Autumn whittled a design on the figure of the Holy Mother and scrutinized the light burning on the candle.

“This is a house of faith. You may burn your faith.”

Col stood, his anger certainly ablaze, when Autumn finally looked at him.

“Everyone dies. Why not celebrate the moments that extend the deadline? Had you not escaped from the treasure repository in the chapel, you may very well have lived out the rest of your life in peace.”

His second bout of dizziness came from fury.

But not a single emotion stirred in Autumn’s expression.

“When I returned from the banquet, you had washed up on my shore. It must be the Black-Mother’s providence.”

His quiet eyes only looked as though they were simply relaying the facts.

“What you were trying would have rendered my decision worthless.”

It sounded like he was demanding thanks for simply giving them a blanket.

No—Col told himself that was only his own assumption. Because, as he could see for himself, there was nothing here. Autumn himself only wore tattered rags. The only other things present were the Black-Mother figures, raw jet for material to make more, a few candles, and some food sitting exposed on the floor. There was no doubt that even the burning driftwood was the very most he could do for them.

That faint flame was the monastery itself.

“The Holy Mother, the savior of this island, will indiscriminately show miracles to those who interfere with me, the one who protects this island. What is your faith compared to that?”

Col had no argument.

“There is nothing more that can be done to aid your companion. These islands are filled with things that cannot be helped. I can only pray to God and thank the Holy Mother for the luck that I was able to save you.”

Everything he said made perfect sense. Col had to acknowledge that.

However, Myuri was dying right by his side, and there was still time to save her.

He wanted to convince Autumn of that with everything he had, but the words did not come out of his mouth because he knew nothing would happen. There was nothing here—only prayer.

Autumn looked away quietly. He may have imagined the uncomfortable look in his eyes.

“Pray. I shall pray for you as well.”

Autumn turned his back to Col, gripping the Black-Mother as he spoke.

Reeling once he realized the holy man had rejected his request, Col returned to Myuri’s side and crumpled to the ground. The always energetic and mischievous girl looked like a princess who would sleep for a hundred years.

There was nothing left to cry, laugh, or get angry about. Even though he had done something so terrible to her, she still jumped into the sea after him and likely without any hesitation. He clearly remembered her smile and how warm she felt in the water.

At this rate, he was powerless to do anything but watch as her life flickered out.

He had read much of the scripture. He had talked to many who pursued theology. Every morning and every night, he prayed with all his might. And this was what he would end up reaping?

It was painful to acknowledge that all he had done was a mistake.

But it was nothing compared to losing Myuri.

He could voice his complaints to God later. When he thought about burning something, he realized he may be able to burn his clothes. He quickly removed some, wrung out the water, and held them by the fire. In his irritation, he held them as closely to the fire as he could, but it seemed like the flames might go out instead.

Though he knew that he might be able to light his clothes on fire if he dried them, he also could see the driftwood burning up and going out before then. And with it, Myuri’s life.

He desperately held back the urge to yell in despair and rubbed her hands and cheeks and any other part of her body as hard as he could.

It all felt in vain, as his hands that were doing the rubbing were also cold, but he had to try.

He wanted her to wake up and look at him. He wanted her to say, Why are you making that face, Brother?

It was now, of all times, that he needed God’s help. But like Myuri said, he would not suddenly appear from the scripture to help him. The Black-Mother, too—he screamed in his heart, asking why would she do such a cruel thing? They should have just drowned together. An ending like this was no miracle.

The Black-Mother was an ancient, nonhuman spirit, and her figures were nothing but worthless material that was found with peat and coal. They were simply worshipping an imitation.

At that moment, he recalled a certain memory.

“…Worth…less…?”

He rewound the events in his head back to Atiph. He recalled what Hyland had said in the tavern where the fishermen gathered. The Black-Mother was made of jet. It was similar in properties to amber, and by scraping it, one could produce sand and wool, and then? And then what?

“There is a way.” he murmured and gulped.

Blood began to rush throughout his body with the loud thumping of his heart, and his head grew hot.

Of course, there were things he could burn here.

He could burn the Black-Mother figures.

Autumn’s uncomfortable gaze had likely been because he chose not to mention it. Jet was precious, found in the dwindling coal mines, and it was something the islanders clung to and always kept on their persons.

The fisherman who had let them borrow his boat at the port said they would eventually buy it from other countries, but there was no way the islanders had enough money.

But people’s lives should be more precious. Autumn, a monk, should understand.

Col stood and breathed.

This time, he was not dizzy.

“Lord Autumn.”

He called out to him, but Autumn did not turn around, nor did his hands stop.

“May I have a figure of the Black-Mother?”

Autumn finally turned around to look at him.

“Will you be praying?”

His question implied that he saw right through him.

“The only thing here to burn is faith.”

Autumn’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. It was the expression of someone who did not want to accept a harsh reality.

“No.”

His answer was curt, and Col could see him grip the chisel even tighter in his right hand.

“There are only so many of these figures. I cannot give one to someone it may not help. Give up.”

He turned around.

“I have said the same to many.”

There was a leaden weight to Autumn’s words that overwhelmed him. Col had seen with his own eyes exactly what he carried in those words. That was how this region developed. It was the prayers to the Black-Mother that somehow preserved this precarious balance.

It was a mistake to set fire to this Black-Mother for the sake of one person who might not even be saved. The scale did not balance out. It was the typical question of the devil, often brought forth by priests who preached philanthropy.

To leave one person to die and save a hundred—what would you do?

Autumn did not look away. He was prepared for hatred, but he had no intentions of bending the rules. It was a silent statement of responsibility for everything he had done in his past and that he was here now, after choosing to save a hundred people.

Col’s instinct told him there was no chance of convincing him.

He turned around, like he was running away.

They had certainly died once in that moment. And Myuri had jumped into the water, prepared for that. And then, in a miracle, they had washed up at the monastery. There was no deceit in what Autumn had said. Everyone will die, and one should celebrate every moment a life is extended, giving thanks to God.

His logic was unassailable. There was not enough room for even an ant to slip through.

But whether Col could accept that or not was a different story.

He could not leave Myuri to die. He could not. That was the only impossibility.

Since coming to this island, it was experience after experience that could have lost him her trust. He had seen how hollow he was inside. But there was just one thing, one thing he vowed in the past that he would never, ever compromise on.

That was—

“I will not leave Myuri alone.”

The one soul who truly believed all the words of this ignorant man, who wished to one day become a holy man in the hopes of saving others, was Myuri.

He did not know if his prayers would reach God, but Myuri’s prayers reached him. Whether they came true or not depended on his actions. He was the object of her faith.

If he could not answer her prayers, then how could he pray in the same fashion to God?

The light from the fire illuminated her profile, as the light of her life dwindled.

Such a straight face did not suit her. She was supposed to be expressive, even in her sleep.

He would not leave her. Even if she had to die in order for a hundred to survive, he would choose to stay by her side.

He had promised that he would always be her friend.

“I, too, do not mind if you hate me.”

Col himself was not particularly great-looking, but Autumn was much too thin. He likely was not eating properly and only holed himself up in his monastery to work.

But he gripped a chisel in his hand. A dull, worn-out chisel that only just managed to whittle the jet. It was something that looked like it could break skin if he put all his strength into it.

Col thought about how if it was a sharp sword instead, the fight would be over in an instant.

They both knew this would not end safely for either, that it would become a terrifying thing.

But did he care?

There was never any mercy with God.

“Myuri.”

He murmured her name the moment Autumn was about to attack him.

“Humans are all the same,” Autumn said.

“They forget their debts and become possessed by self-interest.”

The reason he couldn’t move his legs was not because the conversation dulled his determination. He froze due to something else entirely.

As Autumn stared at him, his beard and hair that reached his stomach puffed outward, as though he had taken a deep breath. Col thought for a moment it might be an illusion, but it was not. Autumn’s body was growing larger.

“It is not enough to demonstrate miracles. Only through punishment do humans recall their faith. The one who saved them, as well as that which must not be forgotten; I will engrave it all into this land.”

Though he remained sitting, Col had to look up to see him. Like some sort of joke, Autumn looked down at him in his cramped position.

Autumn was not human.

Col then realized how shallow he had been. Myuri had commented that he did not smell like an animal.

What had been the god of his own hometown?

“Hate me. I will be conscious of sin, just as you think of cows and pigs.”

His blackened hand reached out to Col to crush him.

He could not run; even if he did, he would be leaving Myuri behind.

Oh God!

At that moment, something slid by him.

A silver mass flew at Autumn, its tail streaming out behind it.

“A beast?! Why here?!”

Myuri had turned into a wolf and flew at Autumn.

Autumn gave a yell and his posture crumpled, his floating backside falling to the floor. The ceiling cracked, and the figures standing by the wall scattered across the floor.

But as he flailed his arms about, desperately trying to chase Myuri away, it was not long before he noticed.

There was no silver wolf to be seen.

After a moment of uneasy silence, Col felt the blood drain from his face and he turned around.

Myuri lay there quietly.

He thought he saw the slightest smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Myuri! Myuri!”

That may have been her spirit.

He touched her cheek and her neck, but she was still terribly cold. He did not want to believe it, pulling the body so limp it seemed it would fall to pieces into his arms. He drew his ear near her mouth, finding that she was still only barely breathing.

But she did not have long left. He knew that she had squeezed out the last of her strength to create a miracle.

He peeled off the blanket and embraced her. He could only pray that, as he had in the sea, the last thing she would feel was his warmth. He wished he could tell her—I am here. As you were by my side in my final moments, I, too, will be your friend until the very end.

He immediately felt a presence behind him, but he did not turn around. There was no time to do even that.

If Autumn were to kill him, he wished he did it quickly. It no longer mattered if he lived or not.

Rather, he wished he could curse his powerless self for still being alive.

“Use it.”

With a high-pitched thunk, clunk, a mass of black rolled to his side. There were stonelike pieces, unfinished pieces, and spectacular decorative pieces.

He turned around and Autumn, still ballooned up, stared at the girl in his arms.

His expression was pained, as though he had questions to ask.

Perhaps it was something among nonhumans. He did not know what it was, but now was not the time for that.

Col immediately gathered the jet, threw it against the wall, and fed the pieces to the fire.

After a few moments, the fire shrank. It was not something that caught right away.

He wanted to cry in frustration, but a voice hung over him.

“You need to make sure the wood does not collapse.”

Without a moment to think, there was the sound of a deep inhale behind him. He immediately reached out, grabbed a part of the driftwood that had not lit yet, then suppressed the embers.

An instant later, a large gust blew through, like the kind he would feel standing on the deck of a ship.

It fanned the fire, and a piece of jet suddenly ignited.

“Here comes the smoke,” Autumn said and put his absurdly large hand to the window.

He altered the stone wall like it was clay and widened the window, and all the black smoke rushed out of the opening at once.

He retreated to the other room for a moment and returned shortly. His hand extended over Col’s head, and after crushing the jet in his hands over the fire, he sighed again.

The small fire instantly burst into flames. It was so hot it felt like it would burn his skin.

“I…”

He heard Autumn’s voice and the soft thud as he sat down.

“I did not know what to do.”

Col turned around, and though the size of Autumn’s body had not changed, he looked withered.

He was hunched over, at a loss, staring at the figures of the Holy Mother scattered on the floor.

“Humans multiply. They proliferate without thinking. They spread, knowing it will ruin them. I never knew why this threw away its life for the sake of such humans.”

He touched the Black-Mother figure with his fingertip, as though stroking it.

“…You’re…”

Col gulped.

“You’re not human. Just like the Mother.”

Autumn’s eyes slowly turned toward him, and they looked somewhat resigned. His oddly blackened eyes were clearly not human, but the way they expressed his wish to tell someone the truth was very human.

“…Long ago, I was worshipped as the dragon of the seas.”

He hunched over further, like a fallen king.

“Humans called it a whale.”

A giant body big enough to stop the flow of lava, the miracle on the boat that Yosef told them about. The story of a wave putting out the fire on a burning boat. And then, the puzzlingly prosperous fishing harvest.

Everything came together neatly with a single thread.

It was understandable that Myuri could not sniff out his true form. It was her first time at sea after all.

“I can no longer remember if this was a blood relative or a companion. It must have had a name, but I cannot recall. It was so long ago that it left to travel. I did not mind at first, but I suddenly yearned for it and went to search. When I finally found it, it had already become cinders.”

The fishing became prosperous after the Mother volunteered her body and saved the town because a whale, who naturally had to eat quite a bit, was suddenly gone. What the fishermen had said was true. A dragon did once live at the bottom of the sea.

“I could not understand. Humans are foolish creatures. Leave them alone and they destroy themselves in an instant. But I knew there must have been a reason why it gave its life to save them.”

“So you decided to maintain the islands for that?”

Autumn was about to nod, but he stopped.

“No. Without inhabitants on the islands, people would forget. So I decided to raise the humans here, so that the memory passes down from one to the next. So they do not forget.”

Raise humans.

That was a difficult phrase to swallow, but Autumn continued.

“The sea is vast and deep. I could have drifted in the waters for eternity, because I thought this was somewhere out there. I thought I would have been able to see it anytime.”

Autumn’s solitude was here.

“Were I the only one to remember, then one day, I might mistake it for a dream. I could think that I truly had been alone from the beginning. How terrifying the thought is. The oceans are bottomless. It is truly silent.”

Col could not say he understood the pain of those who lived for time eternal, but he had watched them as they suffered through it.

“It seems, however, that what I truly wished for was something else. Now I realize that.”

Autumn looked at Col’s arms.

“Even on the brink of death, that wolf showed herself to save you. Then…Then why, at the time of its death, did this not appear before me?”

The lone monk held the figure of the Black-Mother in his hand, on the brink of tears.

“I knew that, in order to sustain this island, I had to prolong the people’s suffering. But it was not so that they would hand down its name. Had that been all, there must have been a different way. In the end, I continued to watch the people suffer because…”

Autumn took an extended sigh.

“It was nothing more than a fit of jealousy. I was jealous because I knew that when this died, it had not been thinking about me but the people of the island…”

That was not something Col could laugh about, nor could he blame him for.

Autumn may not have found another companion besides the Black-Mother in the endlessly vast, deep sea. Col could not say he completely understood the extent of his loneliness.

But he did know Myuri, who had stared powerlessly at the world map. He had borne witness to the helplessness of those who knew they had no place in the world, despite how vast it was.

Autumn’s wish of praying to his only friend was a rather modest one.

And Col was learning that there were many ways to look at things.

“…Even if it was jealousy, it is fact that you have supported these islands. There are those you have saved, and there are many who thank you.”

For the first time, Autumn smiled.

“I was not expecting words of comfort. A true fool.”

He seemed astonished.

“But before anything else, I must say this.”

Still holding Myuri, Col looked at Autumn.

“Thank you so much for saving us.”

It was not a coincidence that they had washed up here. Autumn had saved them. Every time in the past people threw their Black-Mother figures into the sea when they encountered trouble on the waters, he followed the scent and rushed to save them.

Col could not imagine it was all simply out of jealousy, as he claimed.

In his own mind, he thought that Autumn was doing all he could to protect the land his friend once saved.

“It was only a whim.” Autumn spoke quietly, a bitter smile on his face as though holding back a cough.

“It may have been a whim, but I am glad I did. I had not realized she was not human. Or perhaps, it was the hand of God.”

Autumn spoke words that even the most extraordinary of theological scholars would not know how a person should respond to that.

“I have discovered what I should truly be, thanks to that wolf.”

Then he took the figure of the Holy Mother in his hands and fed it to the fire.

It was like a farewell.

“I shall return to the deep oceans and forget everything. The humans, too, shall forget everything. What strange creatures they are. They can swallow pain and sadness much greater than themselves,” he said and nodded like a monk.

“Perhaps that is what faith is. We have no such thing.”

He lifted himself slowly.

It almost seemed as though he was going for a short walk.

“You may use any of this to keep the fire going. Once the blizzard passes, someone will come. Then have them take you on their boat.”

“…Are you leaving?”

“What is left for me to do here? I cannot save this place. I truly could not save the Black-Mother. Had this not given its life rather, then the pain here would have ended long ago.”

That much was true.

But what was right, and what was wrong?

Everyone had their own reasons and their own judgments.

They were each right in their own way, but for some reason, when brought together, they no longer worked.

Without Autumn, this island would no longer be able to sustain itself, eventually falling into devastation and dying out.

No one would have to endure pain after that. Perhaps that was salvation in itself.

“My negotiations that were inconvenient for you will sustain the islands for a short time. The smarter humans will leave. And that will be all for those who cannot.”

Or perhaps, Col thought, that Autumn had finally found a way to get the islanders out of this land by way of the slave deals.

He believed that even if they were in a distant land, separated from their families, it was much better than staying here.

He did not think it was that reckless. He, too, had tried to do much the same with Reicher.

“Without me, they will not be able to settle the negotiations. Then, it will all work in favor for your Winfiel side.”

For some reason, he did not seem at all happy.

“If only gold appeared from the island itself…that would solve everything.”

He knew that such a convenient miracle would never happen. There was an extent to what sort of miracles even the Black-Mother could bring about. Nonhumans lived much longer lives than humans, and compared to mortals, they almost seemed to possess unrivaled power. But there were only so many things that those powers could prevent.

Myuri’s mother, Holo, had also warned her of this—do not rely too much on your fangs and claws; there is only so much she could do with those. Autumn had used his powers in accordance with the ways of the human world, so the region ran smoothly. In that sense, he had supported it well.

And in the end, he saved no one. Not even a glimpse of what had improved remained. What a terrible end.

“Ah, right.”

Autumn was about to leave the building, as his head poked out of the sharkskin that hung over the entrance, then he came back.

“I will take one with me. Even if I forget it all, I may recall what was important when I look at this.”

He retrieved a figure of the Black-Mother, then tilted his head.

“What a strange story. Here, this is more valuable than gold.”

Then the embodiment of the whale left as black smoke billowed from the raging, burning fire. Col’s clothes had already dried, and a bit of warmth had returned to Myuri’s body.

Autumn’s words had been deep.

In this moment, there was no doubt that the jet was much more valuable to Col than gold would have been. It had saved Myuri’s life, and he wanted to spread the story around as a miracle of the Black-Mother—This really happened! Who cared if it was actually the remains of something the avatar of a whale once burned?. Whether or not a whale that could turn into a human fit into the teachings of the scripture was hardly worth thinking about.

It was essential that people learned and believed that a miracle had truly happened to them. The most important thing was that they had been saved.

“Then?”

He stared at the figure of the Black-Mother in his hand. The wavering light of the fire lit its gentle expression. Illuminated by such a strong light, it glinted, like it truly had turned into gold.

No—wait.

It had actually turned to gold in his hands!

When it occurred to him that there may be a way to save the people of the islands, he lost himself and tried to stand, almost dropping Myuri’s head. That made him snap back to reality, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.

He was a shallow human who read some books, obsessed over theology in his little hot spring village of Nyohhira, then assumed he knew everything there was to know when it came to faith. All the actions he had considered so deeply and taken were all nothing but ignorant, fruitless efforts. And when he had guessed wrong and imagined acknowledging the reality, he grew scared and could not move.

This region had somehow managed to develop, thanks to a person like Autumn governing over it. It was rather odd to think now that an outsider’s ideas would decide the direction of the land. He wanted to pretend like he had not noticed anything and warm Myuri. Then, when she woke up, he would celebrate her good health as though it had been his own achievement.

“But…,” he murmured and looked at Myuri.

At the moment her life was about to be snuffed out, she had shown him a miracle. She was a girl who wanted him to be impressive, he who was a fool that only got older and older.

If he could not be the least bit brave for her now, he would be too ashamed to face her once she woke up. Even if she did not notice, he would not be able to forgive himself.

It would make jumping into the cold, dark sea seem all for naught.

There must have been something even her useless big brother could do. There must have been a way to live where she would not laugh at him.

No matter how foolish it was, he had the obligation to continue believing that the world could be a better place.

He patted her head, brushed his fingers through her hair, then placed her softly on the floor.

“I will be right back.”

He stood and went into the next room. He stepped across the figures of the Holy Mother strewn about the floor and pushed aside the sharkskin, wind and snow blowing in from the gaps.

The cold suddenly beat against his face.

He squinted his eyes and undauntedly moved toward the dock.

“Lord Autumn!”

He made his way to the water and called out the name with all his might.

But the wind drowned it all out, and the darkness dominated the seas.

“Is there something you need?”

That was not the darkness.

Col could not tell where the voice was coming from. He looked to the left, to the right, and up into the sky; he could not tell where the beginning or end of the massive body was.

As he stood in shock, the darkness spoke.

“If you do not need anything, then I shall be off.”

“P-please wait!” he said and desperately rearranged the thoughts in his head. “Gold will come from the island.”

“What?”

“Gold will come from the island. No—”

He raised the figure of the Black-Mother he gripped in his hand and said:

“We will turn this into gold.”

Such a thing was possible in the event of a miracle.

Yes.

They just need a miracle to happen.

It was still true, however, that that would not be enough. It was easy to cause things that could only be called miracles by using nonhuman power, but it would be nothing more than a makeshift measure without the proper forethought. The large fangs and claws of nonhumans were, at the end of the day, nothing but powers that existed largely in ancient myth. There was only so much that they could accomplish in this new human world. In order to save an entire land of people, it was necessary to organize a structure that fit into the framework of the human world.

If he had to point out a problem, it was that Autumn’s miracle had been used to endure hardship. There was no doubt that it was the best method he came to after thinking about it in his own way. Col also thought that it had actually worked well.

But speaking from his own faith, Col thought that miracles should be things that always gave others reason to smile, and there should be many more possibilities for them in the workings of the human world. He had learned that from his journey with a master merchant and from his conversations with theologians who gathered all sorts of conclusions from the words of the scripture.

He should be able to create a new light by putting everything he had in his hands together.

“With your power, it is possible.”

“…”

“We should be able to bring back the smiles of this land by using the power of everyone involved with this island.”

Autumn was silent, then spoke slowly.

“Truly?”

He had no guarantee it would go well, and what he was trying to do was to fake a miracle and use that to create a permanent system. No matter what excuses he used, it would clash with the actions of a good believer as described in the scripture.

But he had thought about it in that shrine of lava. Faith was not right or wrong. What mattered was whether the outcome was right, and he could say with confidence that to return the people sold into slavery to their families could not possibly be wrong.

And then, even if he became the subject of scorn of all the clergymen in the world, at least Myuri would smile for him.

“Truly.”

If it did not go well, he thought about how Autumn might eat him or perhaps drag him into the bottom of the sea. But he had already died once. Col was not afraid.

“Truly.”

The moment he repeated himself, there was a spectacularly big wave, and then Autumn was there, standing at the edge of the docks.

He was looking at Col fiercely, emotion laid bare in his eyes.

“I believe you.”

They were fitting words for a monk.