Ch.320The Coast of Discord. Cape Bartholomew (2)

Victor arrived at the lighthouse on Cape Bartholomew.

There were many present, but none approached him.

It was clear that this demonstrated the gap between humans and gods, the difference between human nature and divinity. Victor’s face could only grow increasingly rigid.

He had never wanted to become a god.

Though he had often resented the gods, he never truly believed he could ascend to their position and create a better world.

What happened in the Belka Archipelago was close to a rampage, and for a moment, he had become Nariakira Saburo himself before separating again.

And now he had become a god beyond apostlehood, and the world does not easily accept such an aberration.

Two suns—well, that might be overlooked, but the world cannot accept divine essence dwelling in a human body, the coexistence of divine and human nature.

Humans are humans because they are human, and gods are gods because they are gods.

Demigods or coexistence are impossible. If humans have no limitations, then they are gods and not humans; if gods can abandon their calling, then they are humans and not gods.

Victor vaguely understood this warning from the world.

Like a boy who realizes he is becoming a man as his voice deepens, his beard darkens, and his arms grow stronger, or a girl who realizes she is becoming a woman as her hips widen, buds form on her chest, and her waist narrows.

No. That’s not it.

Victor knew this was no mere growth.

This was a numbing, like a soldier growing accustomed to killing.

This was a desolation, like an executioner constantly muttering justifications for the blood on his hands.

Thud… thud…

His footsteps climbing the lighthouse stairs were incredibly heavy. Or rather, had his footsteps ever been light?

Perhaps he would never realize it again. His divine nature was erasing his memories, freezing the insights he had gained.

Even the sun’s fervor could not restore or thaw them.

Like an apostle slowly turning into a madman, there was no going back.

Before he knew it, Victor had reached the top of the lighthouse.

The light flowing from the massive beacon was refracted, bent, concentrated, and projected through thousands of lenses.

What he saw was evidence and proof of discord. What he heard was the eternal, unceasing sound of waves recalling the past. What he felt were the faint echoes of cannon fire, collapsed pride, and broken flagpoles.

“What flag did they raise in opposition to the Empire?”

“Who knows. Nothing remains now.”

“Nothing at all?”

“That’s right. Nothing. Scholars suspect the Empire deliberately erased it all. It was the flag and ‘symbol’ of the ‘reactionaries’ who fought to the end to prevent the Empire’s establishment.”

“A symbol of reaction.”

Victor said this as he gazed at the rusty frames that were submerged by the waves and revealed by the wind.

How much time would need to pass before those remnants sank to the bottom of the sea? And how much more time would have to flow before even the sunken remnants completely transformed into sand and coral, becoming part of this world?

It was beyond Victor’s knowledge. Probably beyond Simon’s knowledge too.

Then would Logos know? As the master of all known knowledge, perhaps he would know when these ships would once again become part of the world, dispersing as foam with the sea.

Victor raised both hands and extracted thousands of fragments.

With creaking sounds, the remnants were lifted, clearly revealing the color difference between parts preserved in sunlight and salt and parts submerged in seawater.

“What do you wish to tell me?”

He said this as he crushed them into pieces.

“What do you wish to show me?”

With each destruction, each tear, memories of that time surfaced.

Those who aimed at the harbor declaring the first rising sun was not their master. The shouts of inquisitors trying to eliminate those who blasphemed divinity struck his retinas and reached his eardrums.

“I have come here. The Sun God. One who carries divinity in human flesh has arrived, so show me your flags. Show me what you tried to defend to the end, what you sought to protect.”

Under the slogan that nothing could rise higher than the sun, what had once been the national and military flags of kingdoms and republics became the flags of insignificant local governments.

Local government—isn’t that a truly worthless term, perfect for denouncing a nation?

“Show me… your will…”

Before he knew it, the iron had transformed into steel fragments, floating above the sea like a storm.

Faced with this sight, like a swarm of locusts devouring crops, thousands of onlookers could only gape, crushed under the majesty of one who was altering history.

They had only wanted to protect their freedom and dignity.

And the Empire trampled on that, taking away their freedom, burning their dignity, turning them into subjects and citizens who were required to worship and obey eternally.

Ah! How sad! Is this the pain of the first rising sun? If so, the 13 lights that will rise in the future will also burn with such sin and hatred as fuel, then what meaning is there in all that humanity has built?

Even under the gaze of gods, humans kill other humans… how can we claim to be vessels of the divine and aspire to divinity?

Victor waved his hand.

Like an orchestra conductor, like an artillery commander ordering a bombardment.

The steel fragments gathered gently to form a shape.

They created those who once symbolized this land and made a flagpole to hang the flag that would be displayed there.

A flag with three beacons illuminating the darkness.

It was the flag that the people of Bartholomew once proudly displayed as their symbol.

The forgotten and cursed flag revealed itself again from beneath the seawater, to be eternally remembered under the blessing of the rising sun that would be born from the risen sun.

“Behold, citizens! The image of your ancestors! Witness, subjects! That is your flag! The pride that your fathers and mothers tried to protect to the end, that was finally broken because they would not bend… that is your flag!”

As the god spoke, the flag fluttered.

No one knows how a flag made of steel can flutter. It simply flutters when the wind blows. Yet it does not fold or wrinkle.

People knelt and wept as they watched the flag fluttering as if determined to face the sea breeze forever, holding their flag.

“At last we have found our symbol!”

A symbol.

Nothing in itself.

And therefore capable of becoming the most important thing.

To others, a nipple is something vulgar, but to a baby, it is the source of their only nourishment.

To others, a sword is merely an instrument of killing, but to swordsmen, it is the only means to which they can dedicate their entire being.

To others, that flag might be nothing, but to the citizens of Bartholomew, it was everything.

Their ancestors lit three beacons to drive away the darkness.

In the distant past when even the sun did not rise, they faced monsters to gather firewood, risking death to keep the beacons burning, and their bodies too were burned to become ashes and smoke.

And soon their spirit was forgotten.

Because they could not overcome time, because beacons were no longer needed. At the end of a parade of “becauses” and “nots” and “cannots,” the original atoms that first composed them were all replaced.

Victor waved his hand and shattered all the lenses of the lighthouse.

Then he gathered the fragments and gently added glass to the statue, the flagpole in his hand, and the fluttering flag.

When the lighthouse keeper, as if possessed, illuminated the statue, what appeared was the radiance of a standard-bearer driving away the dark blue of the sea. What was felt was the spirit of a martyr who protected the flag to the very end.

No one could speak.

Before those who showed respect through silence, the statue standing tall above the sea watched over their descendants with somber eyes.

As if about to awaken, as if asking who these people were who did not know their past.

“Honor has been restored. The past has been recorded. Truth has been revealed. Now Bartholomew will discover its past and create its future.”

As the god spoke, the priests accompanying him prostrated themselves and cried out.

“Eternal worship to the Sun-God who gives us hope!”

“Long live the Sun-God who has given us hope!”

Again, he walks down the lighthouse stairs. This time in reverse order.

In Victor’s eyes, as he walked away receiving praise and adoration, fragments of humanity were falling, ever so slightly.