Chapter 108 - A God Made by Receiving (3)

Everyone's jaw dropped at Alon's words. Ashgul the Wise, whose eyes were shrouded in deep wrinkles. Sircal the Swift, who was still watching him warily. Evan, who had been examining one of the enormous monster masks on one side of the tent with curiosity. Even Reinhardt, who, like Evan, had been looking around without much interest—all of them gaped blankly.

What had just come out of Alon's mouth was utterly incomprehensible to everyone present.

Reinhardt in particular stared at him in utter bewilderment.

'What... did he just say?'

Though he currently looked like a beggar, he had spent a long time going back and forth to camp while training in the jungle. He knew what sort of being Alon had mentioned.

Basiliora the Receiver.

A ferocious, colossal creature in the form of an enormous serpent, it was both the ruler of the eastern zone and the god worshipped by the Thunder Serpent tribe. Most expeditions avoided fighting the tribe precisely because Basiliora stood behind them.

Yet Marquis Pallatio had declared that he would subjugate Basiliora, right in front of the tribe that worshipped it.

'... Is he out of his mind?'

Reinhardt genuinely thought so as he looked at Alon. Of course, he knew the man was far from ordinary. Beyond the rumors, he had witnessed things firsthand, making Alon's exceptional nature all the more undeniable.

But even coming from “that marquis,” the claim that he would subjugate Basiliora struck Reinhardt as a boast beyond even a braggart's limits.

'That monster...?'

Reinhardt recalled the time he had seen Basiliora: the overwhelming sight of dozens of trees snapping like twigs with a single sweep of its tail, and its body, so enormous that it rose above the treetops.

He had seen it only once, but the memory was unforgettable.

And so, just as Reinhardt was giving Deus an incredulous look for calmly humming and nodding beside Marquis Pallatio, Ashgul the Wise spoke.

“... What did you just say?”

For the first time, his easy smile gave way to a frown.

“Even from an honored guest, that is not a statement we can readily overlook.”

Open hostility accompanied his words. Alon, however, was not flustered. He had naturally anticipated Ashgul's reaction.

He delivered the words he had prepared.

“Then will you keep living like this?”

“... What do you mean?”

“I am asking whether you intend to keep offering your tribespeople to your god.”

“How do you know about...?”

Ashgul shut his mouth, looking startled. He had all but admitted it without realizing.

Alon continued regardless.

“Remember this, Ashgul. The god you worship will not stop demanding human sacrifices until the Thunder Serpent tribe is extinct.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Alon answered Ashgul's question without hesitation.

“Certainty has nothing to do with it. You, of all people, should know that it will not stop.”

“...”

“If the Thunder Serpent tribe helps me, I will deal with it for you.”

Ashgul remained silent. Alon said no more—or rather, there was no need to.

All he needed to do here was remind the Thunder Serpent chieftain of the truth he was deliberately refusing to face, and let him know that there was an opportunity.

After a brief silence, Ashgul spoke.

“... For now, would you give us a day or so to consider?”

“I will wait.”

Their first meeting ended with an agreement to resume the discussion tomorrow.

As Alon left the tent with his companions, he gave a puzzled look.

“?”

Leaving behind Sircal the Swift, whose pupils were trembling uncontrollably, he walked out of the temple.

####

Immediately afterward:

“My lord.”

“What is it?”

“... Are you really going to take down that god, or whatever it is?”

Alon nodded at Evan, who asked the moment they returned to the lodgings the Thunder Serpent tribe had assigned them.

“Yes.”

“... No, seriously?”

“Yes. Why?”

“... Just when I think I've figured you out, my lord. But anyway, are you sure you don't need to say anything more? Their reaction didn't look all that good.”

Alon answered calmly.

“They will probably accept.”

“Why?”

“Because they will not want to keep making human sacrifices against their wishes.”

“I suspected as much, but that really was it.”

Evan clicked his tongue, apparently angry.

“Yes.”

“Even so, I don't think they'll accept what you say that easily. It's a barbaric custom, frankly, but where human sacrifice is taken for granted, people don't even realize it's wrong, do they?”

Evan was not exactly wrong. To those gathered here, human sacrifice was unthinkable, but that perspective was only possible because they had a conventional sense of morality. It was also fair to say that a tribe so intensely averse to outside contact had no way to judge those moral standards.

There was, however, one thing Evan had misunderstood.

“The Thunder Serpent tribe did not originally practice human sacrifice. They are merely being forced to offer it now.”

“Forced...?”

Alon did not know much about them in detail, but he knew two things for certain: the Thunder Serpent tribe had not originally offered human sacrifices, and the one forcing them to do so was their very protector, Basiliora the Receiver.

“... Then don't they have no reason to refuse your offer, my lord?”

Evan looked bewildered.

“You certainly ask a lot of questions about the obvious.”

But it was Reinhardt, not Alon, who answered.

“Obviously, they're afraid of what will happen if it fails. Can't you see it? If the tribespeople really are being forced to offer human sacrifices, it must be because they don't want to be wiped out.”

“That's true, but couldn't they just run away somewhere Basiliora isn't?”

“Obviously, something prevents them from escaping. That's why they're enduring such humiliation.”

Alon looked at Reinhardt with fresh interest. Despite his bandit-like face, he had deduced their current circumstances accurately.

“Correct. The Thunder Serpent tribe cannot leave this place. More precisely, they are trapped. Basiliora watches them to prevent them from leaving.”

“Oh.”

Evan even let out a small exclamation of admiration. With even Deus looking his way, Reinhardt briefly looked pleased with himself, then frowned as though something were amiss.

“Wait. Why does everyone look so surprised?”

“Uh...”

“Because you're quicker on the uptake than you look?”

“Ah, that's ri— ahem...”

Evan nodded vigorously in agreement with Deus, then cleared his throat and cast a wary glance at Reinhardt. Seeing Reinhardt glare at him, he hurriedly changed the subject.

“Uh, but why does that thing keep the Thunder Serpent tribe from moving to another zone?”

At the somewhat hasty question, Alon thought:

'It must be because of their faith.'

Basiliora received the Thunder Serpent tribe's faith and understood perfectly well that it made it stronger. To Basiliora, the tribe was an immensely valuable source of faith.

The problem was that, having grown obsessed with faith, Basiliora had discovered that terror and human sacrifice could earn it far more faith than protecting the tribe could.

'And the chieftain must know that very well, too.'

Alon recalled the truth about the human sacrifices that Sircal the Swift had bitterly revealed in the game, saying she had heard it from the previous chieftain.

“I am not sure of the reason myself.”

The explanation would have been too long to go through in detail, so he offered a vague answer instead.

“In any case, let us wait.”

With that, he sat down.

About three hours later:

“Can you really, truly take down Lord Basiliora?”

Alon had expected it to take a day or two for them to hold a tribal council and reach a decision. Instead, Sircal the Swift had come to him after a mere three hours.

“Yes.”

He nodded calmly.

“... My younger sister is this time's sacrifice.”

It did not take long for him to understand why the tribal council had reached a decision so quickly.

“So that is why you ended the council early.”

“Yes. If we act now, we can still save my sister.”

“It cannot have been easy to persuade the others.”

“The chieftain and I agreed to take full responsibility.”

“...”

For a moment, Alon wondered whether she alone could bear the consequences of failure, but soon nodded. Given Basiliora the Receiver's nature, it certainly needed the Thunder Serpent tribe; the lives of Sircal and the chieftain might suffice to appease it.

But that was not much of a consideration for Alon. He had never entertained the possibility of failure in the first place.

And so:

“Then I will tell you what you need to do now.”

Alon began explaining what needed to be done to the resolute Sircal.

####

Jenira.

The younger sister of Sircal the Swift, the Thunder Serpent tribe's strongest warrior.

She had just turned sixteen, and once this year was over, she was supposed to receive an epithet at her coming-of-age ceremony alongside the other tribespeople. Now, alone on the roof of an enormous temple, she watched the drizzling rain.

As she watched the ash-gray clouds darken, as though night were slowly approaching, she suddenly looked down at her hand.

“...”

There was an apple in it. Her last meal, given to her by the sister she loved so dearly—an apple Sircal had pressed into her hand while weeping, though she had never once shed tears before.

Jenira stared blankly at the red apple, which had lost its color just like the gray sky.

Her sister had given it to her to eat, but Jenira had not eaten it. No, she could not.

It was an apple she loved. She was so hungry. Yet she simply could not eat it.

She feared that the moment she did, she would be alone. That the end would come. She could not eat it, because she knew it was her last meal.

... It was pointless.

Jenira knew that too. Keeping it without eating it did not mean she was still with the sister who had always protected her. She knew all too well that it would not stop her approaching end.

She wanted to run away.

The impulse suddenly flashed fiercely through her mind, but she did not act on it. She also knew that the moment she fled, the next sacrifice would be her sister instead of her.

And so, as Jenira blankly watched the gray sky slowly darken—

“!”

RRRRUMBLE!

She suddenly saw something truly enormous approaching, gliding toward her.

The great god she revered.

The god she never wanted to face.

... Death had come before her.

The serpent appeared, grinding down the trees it had shattered merely by moving—no, Basiliora the Receiver leisurely coiled its way up the enormous altar and looked at her.

The instant its reptilian pupils, larger than she was, fixed their gaze on Jenira:

“Ah—”

Terror seized her.

Her body shook uncontrollably. At the same time, the apple Sircal had given her fell, exposed to the rain. The desperate desire to survive blazed in her mind.

'IwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttoliveIwanttolive'

The thought raced through her mind like madness.

Yet she still knew. No matter how much she cried out, begged, or pleaded for her life, there was no one here who would save her. Her death was already certain.

And so all she could do was weep silently.

The Receiver leisurely savored the sight of the terrified Jenira. Just as it opened its mouth to swallow her—a mouth enormous enough to chew up and swallow an entire house with ease—a voice suddenly rang out.

“Bitter Cold.”

CRRRACK!

Everything atop the altar froze. The floor. The rainwater pooled upon it. The apple she had dropped. Even the rain falling from the sky—everything froze.

Then, at the edge of the altar:

STEP. STEP.

A man with an impassive expression emerged, walking through the drizzling rain.

“—”

Ash-white mana covered one arm. Beside him floated a rectangular block of iron about half his size.

He murmured as he climbed the steps, his voice too quiet for her to hear.

But immediately afterward:

KRRRRAAAK!

The rectangular iron block twisted unnaturally, forming an enormous spear.

Instinctively sensing danger, the god, Basiliora the Receiver, tried to close its open mouth. But its mouth would not close.

Inside that enormous mouth, within the gray world, brightly shining violet threads tangled wildly together, forcibly holding the god's jaws open.

The moment it realized this, the god's body, coiled around the altar, thrashed.

RRRUMBLE!

A single twist of its body shook the altar as though an earthquake had struck.

Yet the man climbed the remaining steps as though utterly unbothered. Before she knew it, he had passed Jenira and stood before the god.

Murmuring once more, he stood before the serpent's gaping maw and extended his index and middle fingers like a gun.

“Pierce.”

He recited the final phrase.

KABOOOM!

An enormous bolt of lightning struck.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■—!!!!!!!!!!!

The god fell, the roof of its mouth pierced by the enormous iron spear.

“Ah—”

Jenira stared blankly at the “human” who had brought that “god” low.