By Zephyria 
I helped Rubel, who was as pale as white paper, and carefully sat him down.
The group could no longer laugh. Yes, they had mistakenly thought that since this being called a god seemed immensely large and powerful, and even gentle, all their problems would now be solved. That wasn’t the case. We had merely… come to know.
Now that we knew it wasn’t some Duke’s Young Master or a few Black magicians despairing of the world who had taken them, but the work of some mad god, the situation felt overwhelmingly bleak.
Perhaps pitying the greatly shocked humans?
The god, about to leave, stopped and sat back down. He sat down casually, just like us on the floor, and idly tormented the weeds on the ground with his fingertips. Did those weeds and we look the same to him? As I watched blankly with that thought, the god, who had been observing us, suddenly spoke.
“There was a time when I, too, used to look after and cherish humans one by one. After all, they talk well, they try hard to think, they cry and laugh, and they do many cute things. It’s impossible not to like them.”
Crack. The weed, pulled up by the roots, was thrown in front of me.
“But now, honestly, there are just too many of you.”
It was a weed carelessly pulled, with many roots broken. It still had green leaves, but left as it was, it would soon wither and die. I had never meticulously considered the life of a single blade of grass like this. All this time…
“Imagine you’re raising rabbits. If you have one rabbit, you’d give it a pretty name, let it sit on your lap and eat carrots, and fuss over it, saying its fur has a sheen today, wouldn’t you?”
“…”
“Seven rabbits? Then, what, should I call them Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday? You’d still remember their names. You might get confused sometimes, wondering if the one with brown fur was Wednesday or Thursday, but you’d still know there were seven.”
Ah. Someone sighed. Hic, a sound of someone covering their mouth followed almost simultaneously.
The god continued, unconcerned.
“But what if you have a billion rabbits? Now I don’t even know what’s being born or dying. Are there only rabbits? I raise rabbits, and chickens, and what else, goats… Anyway, that’s how it is. What can you do? You just assume they’re living well, fill their hay, and make sure they don’t run out of water.”
The god’s face was still smiling. Were his eyes truly fixed on us?
What kind of light did our souls possess as he looked into them?
“Honestly, I can understand why my eldest sister and the youngest cherish humans the most. First, the first human, the second human, the third… up to about the hundred and seventieth, those two poured insane amounts of devotion into them. So I guess they cherish their descendants, and their descendants’ descendants.”
“…”
“And I like humans too. But I… I don’t want to pour my energy into things that won’t work out like they do. I just want to take one pretty one I like, and if they break or tear, hold them together with my power and keep them with me for three hundred years, or four hundred years. Like this.”
When had he brought him? No, had he brought him?
The god placed Nadish Haisan on his left thigh and nudged his shoulder with his chin. Instead of resisting, Nadish covered his eyes with one hand and let out a deep sigh.
The god whined in a childish tone,
“Loving humans while leaving them as humans is truly an impossible task.”
“…”
Nadish Haisan looked unfamiliar anew.
I had once taken his pulse. I remembered the strangely spreading, yet non-threatening, form of contaminated mana throughout his body. And I recalled him walking to and fro to receive the rain, his fingertips hardening to black.
Nadish Haisan said he didn’t know his age.
Three hundred years, four hundred years… Was he even human? Was he once human? Then what is he now?
The spirits, who had occasionally burst into laughter, now fell silent. There was no wind, only silence.
The god continued,
“I can’t take what the youngest has painstakingly collected while crying and give it back to you. That’s… that’s difficult for me too. I can’t do it. It’s not my domain.”
“What… is ‘domain’?”
How truly remarkable. Rubel’s voice, asking precisely what was needed in front of such a being, pierced the dark night. Rubel’s question, squeezed out, trembled at the end, but the answer was refreshingly simple.
“I am the God of Oasis. Most humans who believe in me are nomads. You are from the Sierran people, so it’s better to ask my sister than me, as an excuse. The First Goddess, the god who protects you.”
“But aren’t they said to be north of the Yuil Mountains right now?”
“That’s right? But will they live there forever? They’ll return someday.”
He was the god who created this world. He spoke of the very first beginning. In the hands of a god who regarded our eternity as a fleeting moment, who knew how many hundreds or thousands more people would die. And for what… for offerings in a theft, for a transient and vain reason.
What was the point of resenting the god who consistently gave answers?
My life had always been one of compliance. What I could and could not do was decided from birth. Since some point in my past life, I had always lived that way.
But Rubel pondered seriously. The child’s dark eyes flashed with light.
With a voice that had become much firmer, the child asked again,
“Is there… no way for humans to save humans, no way to save those who were taken?”
The God of Oasis adjusted his posture and looked directly at Rubel.
I couldn’t fathom what emotion was conveyed by the expression on his smooth face.
❖ ❖ ❖
From the distant, vast desert, dawn was gradually breaking.
Deciding it would be better to rest, the mercenaries set up camp beside the Oasis. They chose stones on the firm ground and pitched their tents. A pot was placed over a fire, and the stew began to cook. As the smell of stew warmed the surroundings, some spirits who hadn’t followed the god came around, trying to play.
There were so many stars; even in the brightening dawn, the dense constellations in the sky twinkled ceaselessly. I sat beside Rubel, who had been sighing deeply since earlier, and stroked his back. With every sigh the child let out, my heart sank, but I couldn’t show it.
“Aaaargh!”
Marianne, who had been lying sprawled on the bare ground staring at the sky, suddenly let out a loud cry and sat up abruptly. Everyone was startled and looked at her, but Marianne, still huffing, flopped back down. Benjamin, flustered, brought a blanket, but couldn’t cover Marianne with it.
Yes, now wasn’t the time to cover him with a blanket.
It seemed that fellow had also gained some sense. Benjamin hesitated for a moment, glanced at my expression, then looked at the still dejected Rubel, and said loudly as if to be heard,
“Even so, it’s fortunate our clothes aren’t wet.”
“Hmm?”
“Nadish Haisan said something like that, didn’t he? That we might be splashed with water as a prank.”
“…Ah.”
It was a dull joke.
Hugh Benson, walking with his wet face wiped, retorted as if picking a fight,
“Instead, we were covered in sand.”
He must have washed his face several times; even his shoulders were wet. Marianne raised her staff to cast a spell at Hugh Benson, but seeing Hugh shake his head in refusal, she put it down.
We asked the god many things. The god answered everything he knew without hiding anything. The problem was that he didn’t know much.
He could rattle off the structure of primordial magic and the order of world creation, but he knew nothing about human affairs. He said that after humans formed societies and prospered, their numbers became too great for him to bother looking into.
Every time I recalled the god’s voice asking, “Who is Wesley Kiadris?” when asked about his identity, I could only sigh.
Marianne pushed her staff back into her belt and spoke again,
“Are you going to look for them? The Divine objects?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“You’re the leader now. You said you wanted to meet other gods too.”
“Looking for gods, damn it, that’s something you can at least dream about. How can we find Divine objects?”
The God of Oasis offered three methods.
First, find the First Goddess and implore her. Second, get help from two or more other gods. Third, gather all six Divine objects scattered across this land. He explained that any one of these would allow them to temporarily ‘put to sleep’ the Ninth God and spirit away the abducted individuals.
The First Goddess was currently in the Magic territory beyond the Yuil Mountains.
He said the mana in the Magic territory was dense and chaotic, making it difficult for even the weak prayers of humans to reach. However, if they did meet the Goddess, he said he would convey their message that humans were seeking her for such-and-such reasons. But they didn’t know if they would have to wait for decades, or even centuries.
When he said, “I can’t do it, so find another god,” he added, “If there’s anyone who pities humans more than I do, they might help? But I don’t know where they are right now.”
The First Goddess and the God of Oasis were quite fond of and pitied the Ninth God, but the other four gods were different. However, he acted as if it were none of his business, stating that he had no connection with the other gods.
The god looked directly at Rubel and said, “Just collect the Divine objects at your leisure. After all, Divine objects belong to humans. If you collect them all, you’ll gather about half a god’s worth of mana, so while you can’t kill a god, you can put one to sleep.”
But gathering six Divine objects…
Easier said than done, Divine objects were the most precious treasures of each kingdom. The God of Oasis did not know the location of the Divine objects. He added that only the First Goddess or the God of Records would know.
Benjamin, pondering, said something that sounded easygoing.
“It’s fortunate we have Your Highness, isn’t it?”
“What’s fortunate?”
“Only someone who has inherited Divine Blood can distinguish between genuine and fake Divine objects.”
“We can’t get close to them, can we? We need to have something to look at first.”
Hugh Benson replied with a pained voice and buried his face in his hands once more.
That was right.
Even if Rubel was the Prince of the Sierran Empire, he couldn’t barge into other kingdoms and cause a ruckus demanding unknown treasures. Furthermore, the form of the Divine objects was not even known, so they couldn’t be stolen.
Marianne, watching the scene, clutched her hair with both hands and pulled it downwards, groaning. Rubel, who rarely showed weakness in front of others, leaned his head into my chest and moaned.
What to do? As I held and comforted the child in my arms, I too could only sigh.