Ch.306Cradle of Abundance. Hargal Plains (2)

Confusion.

Bewilderment.

And shock.

The faces of the welcoming party who had come to greet the Sun God were horribly distorted.

What on earth was this insignificant creature doing?

How could this filthy commoner, looking even more wretched than vagrants and beggars, be clinging to the Sun God’s pants? And why was the Sun God looking down at him with such benevolence? It was beyond their comprehension.

“Curtis. My subject. Tell me of your suffering.”

Victor absentmindedly took a goblet of wine from the tray of the stunned welcoming party, opened it, and blessed it with light before pouring it over the man’s head.

What flowed out was not purple liquid but white holy oil that soaked his body. Instantly, his flesh, which had been on the verge of death moments ago, began to regenerate.

Between his skeletal bones and skin, fat and flesh began to fill in, and his damaged organs started actively dividing cells again.

This is the power of a god, praise and glorify it, you mortal humans.

“My…my…my name is Curtis.”

Curtis spoke his name with a trembling voice.

Even so, his hands did not let go of Victor’s pants.

He looked like a child clinging to his father like gum to avoid getting lost, but no one dared laugh at him.

Who could mock this scene of a human clinging to a god—a human seeking salvation and a god bestowing it?

“I am… the son of Harris and Madeline… father of Dwight and father of Catherine…”

“Curtis. Son, husband, and father. What do you seek from me?”

When Victor asked, Curtis gripped the hem of his pants tighter, looked up at him with tears streaming down his face, and cried out:

“I want justice!”

A roar filled with anger. A declaration filled with hatred.

His resentment, mixed with loss and pain, found its power through his vocal cords, throat, mouth, and tongue.

“Is my skin like a barnacle that no matter how much I scratch or stab it, not a drop of blood comes out? Is my heart like ice that no matter how much it’s beaten or carved, it cannot be wounded? My God…! My Lord…! I lived more diligently than anyone… I never indulged in luxury nor harmed anyone… Yet why has life’s pain surpassed life’s joy? Money… money… that damned money…! I’ve never held a gold coin, not even a silver one in my hands—what have I done wrong?”

He wailed.

He had lost his parents, and the reason was absurd.

Unable to afford medicine for a simple cold, it had developed into pneumonia.

He had lost his child, and the reason was absurd.

His son had hanged himself in despair over inescapable poverty.

He had lost his wife, and the reason was absurd.

She had thrown herself into the river, hating herself for not being able to teach their son even a single letter.

“That’s why I want justice. I want salvation. Sun God… I had to feed my son and wife earning just a few coppers a day… I was scorned and looked down upon by other parents raising children… I was mistreated by port managers and warehouse keepers. Is this the reality of the world? Do those who cannot fight never receive light?”

From each of Curtis’s phrases, one could feel the sorrow he had endured, making it clear where his son’s intelligence had come from before he took his own life.

As Victor listened to his plea, he wondered how capable this man could have been had he received proper education.

A man who had survived on manual labor his entire life was now delivering such a compelling speech once he opened his mouth—what a blessing to the world he could have been with proper higher education!

The God deemed Curtis’s anger toward the world justified, so he opened his ears to the young subject kneeling before him, pleading in pain.

“This place is the cradle of prosperity… where Moneta ascended. How can this be? Does Moneta promise utopia to those who impoverish their souls to fill bodily vanities? How can those who mistreat the people who fill their warehouses truly claim to be wealthy? I have petitioned and begged countless times. But each time, all I received were insulting words and harsh beatings for being poor and destitute. Please… establish justice in this land… Make the wealthy pity the poor, and let the poor look up to the wealthy while filling their stomachs through diligent labor…”

Curtis said this, then let go of Victor’s pants and prostrated himself on the ground.

Had a crowd holding its breath ever seemed so insignificant? Victor thought this while lamenting his own inadequacy.

Oh world, you are too vast. Those who could not overcome your immensity built walls and cities, creating these terrible chains—who should bear this responsibility?

Should it be the welcoming party standing stupidly before him? Or the ruling party? Or the warehouse keepers at the port?

“Curtis.”

“…Yes.”

“Making the wealthy pity the poor, and the poor fill their stomachs through diligent labor. Is that your justice?”

“…Yes, it is.”

Victor nodded slightly at his answer and gave orders to his guard.

“My soldiers, listen.”

“Yes, my lord. Command us.”

“Take this man to the flagship, wash him clean, feed him well, and then take him to the priests. The priests will know what to do from there.”

“Yes!”

And so Curtis disappeared from Victor’s sight.

Though his pants were stained with filth from the man’s dirty hands, Victor deliberately did not clean it off.

Instead, he stepped forward and looked down at the welcoming party who still stood dumbfounded, and said:

“Officials of Karluk. Have you nothing to say about this situation?”

“We… we are sorry, God! We will ensure this never happens again!”

The mortals prostrated themselves.

For some reason, Victor found this so detestable that he momentarily felt the urge to trample them to death.

“And?”

“We will strengthen security and issue access control orders in the vicinity…”

“Wrong.”

“…Pardon?”

“Do I look like I’m asking about my treatment right now?”

Victor’s expression had twisted into something monstrous.

Those who saw it were terrified and prostrated themselves, soon losing consciousness before the divine majesty.

Of course, Victor did not permit this.

“Huk…! Heuk…! Huuuk…!”

Extreme pain as if someone was stomping on their chests, forcing them to breathe. An alien, overwhelming sensation impossible for human senses to process.

Everyone present could feel it. This was divine wrath.

Even his wife Raisha could barely breathe, so the pressure felt by mere mortals must have been beyond description.

“You should have apologized to him! You should have looked him in the eyes… held his hand and begged for mercy!”

Raisha saw her husband’s eyes gradually filling with rage and madness.

He was certainly a good husband, but that didn’t mean he was a good person. And he was certainly not a gentle god.

“Keuruuk… keudeudeuk….”

The representative of the welcoming party kneeling before him was foaming at the mouth, yet somehow maintaining his thin consciousness through divine power, making for a grotesquely bizarre sight.

“Listen, you spawn of Karluk! Do you dare claim the right to serve the God of Prosperity! You are as impious and insolent as millers who begrudge the money that goes into the waterwheel of the mill that grinds wheat and rice!”

“Hueeeek… kueeeeek…!”

“Moneta! Goddess of Prosperity and Abundance! Do you truly wish to die?! Do you wish to burn in my light and heat?! In your domain! In your sanctuary! You did not place even a single silver coin in the hands of those who worked most diligently—this proves your power is worthless! If you did not realize it, it is negligence; if you knew but could not help, it is incompetence!”

Victor said this as he drew his Purifier, wrapped it in lightning, and thrust it into the ground.

A chilling female scream began to echo, growing louder as the sword sank deeper.

Eventually, blood began to flow from the ground, and Victor, observing this, evaporated the blood on the blade before sheathing it again.

“We’re leaving! This city is not ready to receive me! Not even its own citizens!”

With a voice trembling with rage, Victor returned to the Sky Warden with his guards and party members.

No one dared question his decision.

For no human can stand against divine wrath.