Chapter 80 : Reversalism (1)

“The goddess’s divine power is like a one-time cash purchase.”

By paying the price of divine power, one could perform miracles and feats far beyond the capabilities of any human.

However, its efficiency was almost at the level of Lineage microtransactions, making it impossible to abuse recklessly.

One had to steadily gather the faith offered by believers daily just to maintain the divine domain and deliver oracles periodically.

Divine power?

Using it three or four times a year was considered a lot.

‘Seems like she used to be different back then…’

Even in the past, when believers overflowed in all directions and the Church’s influence was at its peak, that was the case.

So now, there was no need to say more.

She barely managed to get by, having to shrink her divine domain and conserve the divine power she used regularly.

And after the Saintess deserted her post, the situation only worsened.

“That damned brat. Who would’ve thought she’d run away just because I scolded her a bit.”

With the Hierarch detained in the Helvetian Republic, the head of the Church became the Saintess.

She was both the administrator ruling over all the believers across the continent and the spiritual axis of faith.

But with the Saintess gone, the Church lost its direction.

Until now, it had at least tried to preserve its power despite the chaos of war, but now it had just collapsed entirely.

They couldn’t do anything right, only argue endlessly within.

‘Thanks to that, even my prestige is declining day by day!’

Bishops trying to seize power in the vacuum left by the top leader.

The Holy Knights disbanded, taking responsibility for failing to protect the Saintess.

Believers, disappointed by the Church’s turmoil, choosing apostasy.

It was truly a perfect collaboration of chaos.

At this point, it was amazing that the organization was still holding together.

The only reason it hadn’t collapsed was because of the sheer size and history it had built up over the years.

‘So I resorted to drastic measures.’

If left as it was, her faithful followers, nurtured over thousands of years, were all going to abandon her.

So the goddess came up with a hardline countermeasure in a hurry.

To keep the faith of the believers, what was most needed was a reason and motive to worship the divine.

Wouldn’t their devotion surge if a calamity were unleashed that no human power could resist?

The chosen method: plague.

“There’s no way those foolish humans could quickly develop a cure for a rare disease like this. It was a decent choice, all things considered.”

She brought an endemic disease from the depths of the New Continent, from its most remote areas, and spread it across the Old Continent.

It wasn’t quite a miracle, but it still cost a fair amount of divine power — though she accepted it as a necessary expense.

Just in time, humans enthusiastic about the slave trade helped spread another disease, which created a disastrous synergy.

With those two plagues, she painted a hellscape.

Now, all that remained was to wait for the faith to roll in.

She was going to enjoy the sight of desperate humans praying to her, yearning for salvation that didn’t exist.

“…Why isn’t my divine power being replenished?”

The results were underwhelming.

Yes, the amount of incoming faith had increased compared to usual.

By about 40%?

There were more people than usual praying desperately — calling it penance, healing masses, and so on.

But it was still not enough.

By her expectations, the incoming faith should have been several times higher.

“…Is that damned brat the problem?”

Why was this happening?

After a brief thought, she could roughly guess the cause.

The shockwave caused by the Saintess’s desertion must’ve been immense.

Who would want to rely on a church whose leader ran away, saying she couldn’t take it anymore?

‘That bastard Ishmael must’ve played a role too.’

To make matters worse, that wretched Ishmael was spreading his cult of personality far too aggressively.

People have gone beyond merely respecting monarchs or leaders and have begun to revere them like pseudo-deities.

“After all the trouble of summoning him to another world, he turned into a horned bastard, screwing some weird chick and acting like a lunatic…!”

This led to troubling side effects.

Powerful figures began taming clergy members to reinforce the worship directed at themselves.

Clergy, who led weekly masses and administered sacraments, were in the perfect position to stir up the public.

So rulers co-opted or threatened them into praising themselves instead of the goddess.

If they resisted, they were removed and replaced with more cooperative individuals.

They diverted the faith that should’ve gone to the goddess onto themselves.

“This is why humans are so damned frustrating! No matter who they are, they never show gratitude for the blessings I give!!”

This happened in both the Navre Kingdom and the Kingdom of Allein, regardless of faction.

The result was the very situation the goddess Kiana now faced.

“Should I just go down there and take care of it myself…?”

The gritting goddess bit her nails as she contemplated.

She still had enough divine power to descend in an incarnate form.

If she descended to the mortal realm, her divine abilities would be far more effective, and killing Ishmael and the saint wouldn’t be difficult.

But it was far too risky.

What if she ended up getting defeated?

She might never return to her divine domain.

Kiana—or rather, that fishy runt Kiana—wasn’t yet desperate enough to take that level of risk.

At least from her point of view, there was still hope.

“Let’s wait a little longer. Things might get better if I hold on just a bit more.”

Hoping that time would offer a solution, the goddess chose patience.

Even though she had no idea what might happen next.

*****

Some time had passed since the pandemic broke out, and damage reports started coming in from all over.

From both within and outside our organization.

“There seems to be surprisingly little damage among the upper class?”

“This situation is different from ordinary infectious diseases.”

Everywhere was filled with the stench of death, wailing cries, and the smell of burning corpses.

Yet nobles, royalty, and other high-ranking people had a noticeably lower death rate.

Infection rates were similar, but survival was much higher among them.

None of the reigning monarchs died at all.

“Really? If it’s a dangerous disease, shouldn’t everyone be equally at risk?”

“This time, it’s a combination of two diseases—completely different in traits and nature.”

We had a rough idea of the cause.

Likely, it was due to differences in lifestyle.

Diseases like smallpox or the Black Death are usually indiscriminate.

They infect and kill anything in their path.

Upper or lower class, once the bacteria got in, survival became a matter of odds.

“In short, they’re aggressive to all. No exceptions.”

But this time, it was different.

Now named “Horde,” the New World flu-like illness was mild apart from weakening immunity.

Its fatality rate was nearly zero, and healthy people recovered quickly.

The other, called “Chronol,” was extremely lethal—but in return, its contagion rate was very low.

It wasn’t even a contagious disease to begin with.

By chance (or maybe not), the two spread together and created a horrific synergy.

“In other words, those who have the strength to overcome Horde don’t need to worry about Chronol.”

For the rich, who eat well and live comfortably, this whole pandemic was no worse than a seasonal flu outbreak.

Only the poor and destitute were condemned to hell.

“In the end, no matter where you go, it’s always the high-ranking folks who survive.”

“That’s just how the world works.”

I agreed with Kalia’s words as she busily shook her hips above me.

It’s always the lower ranks who suffer and sacrifice.

Especially in medieval and early modern times.

Even in modern times, things might have gotten a little better, but haven’t really changed.

“Hmph! Because of that, the soldiers at the frontlines have been complaining like crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

Rubbing her now-hot belly and catching her breath for a moment, Kalia took a sip of water and replied.

“The whole country has been ravaged by the plague, right? So they stopped rotation duty. The frontlines have fewer germs anyway, but if the units pull back to the rear and get mass infections, it’d be a disaster.”

“For how long? Surely not forever.”

“For now, until the epidemic dies down.”

“…That’s insane.”

In a war where digging trenches, mind games, and local battles are the norm, no rotation duty?

That’s basically forcing the units to collectively go crazy and die.

Even armies during the World Wars pulled frontline troops back after a few months to give them rest (except the Imperial Japanese Army—hence their madness and atrocities like cannibalism).

You can’t expect a person’s body and mind to endure that.

Humans aren’t designed to fight without rest.

“I guess there’ll be another mutiny or rebellion soon. Or maybe you’ll be the one to cause it.”

“You flatter me too much.”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen.”

I brushed away a stray lock of her hair.

Her head shook slightly, maybe because it tickled.

Cute.

Honestly, she is exaggerating a bit.

As soon as I heard the explanation, I thought of a way to use it.

‘In the end, it’s about stirring up the soldiers.’

This time, ideology won’t be much use… I’ll have to use fiction.

Or, in a way, isn’t that also ideology?

Anyway, I’ll just borrow two books I enjoyed reading a while back.

“Kalia.”

“Yes?”

“The merchants supplying the frontlines—our collaborators, right? Contact a few of them.”

“What are you planning to do this time?”

The answer to her curious question was pretty much what it always was.

“I’m going to cause some trouble after a long time. Also to educate the poor soldiers a bit.”

Farewell to Arms and All Quiet on the Western Front.

Let’s see if anyone gets shocked after reading those.