Ch.344Hall of Mercy. Isabella Hospital (4)

Humans who received divine reverence were not common.

And for good reason. Those who achieved such feats would likely have already ascended to godhood.

The stars adorning the night sky were traces of mortal beings who had ascended after accomplishing great deeds, living proof that in this world, great humans became stars upon death.

However, Madam Isabella died as a human and was buried as one.

Does that mean she wasn’t a great human? Was she merely a pioneer who first dug this well called a hospital?

The machines don’t know how many people she sent off, because it isn’t in their database.

People don’t know how many she saved, because no one remains who remembers.

The sun and moon bowed their heads in reverence at the grave of a person from distant history, whose face and voice no longer remain, only her deeds.

This hospital is not perfect.

Some might choose dignified death over painful rehabilitation, but the cold machines and merciful volunteers merely soothe such “desires” with cool washcloths and lukewarm fluids.

Viktor knows what people think when life’s pain exceeds its joy. At least, he has lived a life far from happiness thus far.

The salt-laden waves of Parcifal carved his past, and the slums reeking of rotting shellfish were where he lived. Viktor survived in that wretched place where even minimal humanity couldn’t be guaranteed.

And he knows not everyone can survive.

In a harsh society where one must kill others to survive, unremarkable individuals are destined to become prey. Viktor knew from a very young age that he was special.

When other children were dying of extreme hunger, hallucinating, he would dive into the sea and tenaciously gather all kinds of seaweed to survive.

At five or seven years old, when other children were helpless, he had already killed over a hundred people—enough to make Viktor question whether he was truly human.

His mind could suppress his pain, and even when he encountered suffering beyond his mental strength and climbed a cliff with broken will, a thread-like hope of moving toward the unknown washed away his pain again.

And Viktor understood that such strength was possessed only by a chosen few.

Not something gained through training or enlightenment. Viktor was simply born that way.

Strong, cold, and steadfast. He couldn’t even remember how old he was when he realized not all humans were born with such virtues—it was from such a distant past.

“If your visit is complete, please follow me. I’ll guide you to the exit.”

Following the machine speaking quietly behind them, the Iron Walker party exited the hospital.

*

The Iron Walker party returned to their flagship, the Sky Warden.

Though not intentional, the Sky Warden happened to be positioned midway along the path taken by discharged patients. The priests of the sun were blessing the discharged patients with their scriptures, without anyone taking the lead.

As Viktor and Raisha approached them, millions of people turned to look at the Walker couple, and some patients whose corneas hadn’t yet regenerated had to shield their eyes from the solar radiance with their hands.

Viktor said nothing, but that was enough. Power resided in the words of a god, and his mere existence had the power to captivate humanity.

As the radiance spread like waves, people uniformly knelt, and those who couldn’t kneel pressed their heads to the ground to express reverence for the divine.

And watching them, the Sun spoke:

“I know what suffering you have endured.”

Having seen treatments that were close to torture—or for some, torture itself—performed on those whose human form was barely intact but whose brains and central nervous systems remained alive, Viktor spoke thus.

“Treatment filled with pain. Rehabilitation filled with despair. You have survived even in the absence of sensation where you couldn’t choose death, you have become whole again, and you have once more grasped the opportunity to avoid pain and break despair.”

The logic that one must be saved if alive was the machines’ reasoning.

Of course, it was natural that machines without pain couldn’t understand the pain from human bodies, but Isabella Hospital wasn’t operated solely by machines—volunteers worked there too.

Yet they couldn’t be blamed.

After all, they came here purely out of compassion to save their own kind. Their dedication was proven by their ability to face rotting flesh and remove decaying organs with their own hands.

“Some will return to the battlefield, others to daily life, but promise me one thing.”

Viktor looked around at the gathering and said:

“Show mercy. Do not exploit others’ suffering. Give rest to those who suffer and extend your hand to those in need. I have heard of this hospital’s efforts over a thousand years. How the channel of humanity under machine logic has collapsed more than 1,100 times due to human greed and combativeness.”

The expressions of the humans darkened rapidly upon hearing this.

Though unspoken, like karma coming full circle, there must be many perpetrators who became victims and victims who became perpetrators—those who spread poison gas and viruses but ended up here because they couldn’t don gas masks in time.

“So do not do it. How long must human dignity and compassion be trampled by political logic? Can you promise this before your master, before me, the creator of the world and master of humanity?”

“Yes!”

This time, an answer came.

This was what Viktor had aimed for. No matter how much individuals wanted to maintain their personal beliefs, they were merely parts of society and cogs in the military machine, bound to be swept along by majority opinion if the collective went mad.

But a belief affirmed by millions of witnesses, borrowing the divine authority, was different. No matter how powerful worldly authority might be, Viktor was the master of fervor and the rightful ruler of all humanity.

To ask someone to break an oath made before such a being was to turn against the sun—a blasphemy rejecting all heat and light in this world.

“I say unto you: Pain, be gone.”

As he spoke, their pain vanished.

“Now go forth. Return to your homelands and places. Spread mercy and compassion. Spread the gospel delivered by the Master of Fervor, and bring down the hammer of justice upon those who would commit injustice. I am the representative of all humanity’s suffering. I will embrace and carry your pain.”

Viktor spoke thus and blew warm air upon them.

Despite it being midwinter, warmth like that from a heated food stall warmed their bodies, and soon the priests of the sun rose and shouted:

“Thanks to the Sun God who healed our pain!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

“Praise to the Master of Fervor who blessed our beliefs!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

“Glory to the Master of Humanity who forgave our sins!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

The cheers of millions filled Viktor’s heart. His mouth opened, and hot breath rose—evidence of the faith of all gathered here believing in him.

The sun and moon turned and returned inside the Sky Warden.

Yet even after they left, cheers still echoed faintly in the avenue of survivors.

As if to prove that even when gods depart, faith remains.

“Long live the Victorian Empire!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

“Long live Emperor Viktor! Long live Empress Raisha!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

The priests of the sun did not cease their hymns.

They follow the Master of Fervor, the Sovereign of Humanity, and furthermore, the Guardian and Creator of the world!

Under the name of the rightful ruler, these 13 continents will once again unite to build an immortal Second Empire surpassing the glorious past, prospering through generations!