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🕑 Added 2025-02-16 04:50:41 +0000 UTCOliver (9)
If you turn back the clock slightly, you can see that quite a lot has happened.
In the heart of the United Kingdom, the capital, the apocalypse unfolded, and salvation was achieved just in time.
Thanks to a boy with twelve wings.
It was, literally, a miracle.
However, the aftermath of the miracle caused disturbances, large and small, in the capital.
Not severe crimes like looting, arson, or murder, but in some ways even more critical...
A new faith began to emerge. Considering a god-like figure had appeared before their very eyes, it wasn’t strange.
Fortunately, those directly under the god-like figure managed to suppress it, keeping the situation under control for now.
Nevertheless, signs of a new religion forming were becoming visible in the capital of the United Kingdom.
Whether the god-like figure wanted it or not.
Interestingly enough, a similar phenomenon was occurring in Landa.
“Is it because of me?”
“Of course, it’s because of you.”
Oliver, who was increasingly being revered as a god without his knowledge, received this response from Forrest, a mere businessman, as they drank.
If anyone saw this, they might find it irreverent and get angry, but Oliver found Forrest's attitude rather comforting.
Knowing this, Forrest deliberately spoke in such a manner.
“Of course, it’s not entirely your fault. The situation itself was unavoidable. You couldn’t not fight against the zombie army occupying the capital and the Kingdom’s army...”
Forrest began explaining the reasons why Oliver’s worship was spreading in Landa.
The first reason was Oliver’s act of liberating Landa single-handedly.
The broadcast, aired by the Kingdom’s army to sway public opinion, ended up becoming a victory report showcasing how Oliver alone had defeated both the Kingdom’s army and Puppet’s zombie army.
This announcement revealed to the entirety of Landa that Oliver had liberated the city by himself.
“The city council added details about collaboration and requests, but the fact remains that you freed the city alone. And without any casualties, at that.”
“I didn’t do it with that intention, but it’s a bit overwhelming.”
“It can’t be helped. People can’t help but revere great power. Do you know why?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Because great power evokes fear and admiration. And those two emotions must be resolved.”
“Does resolving those emotions mean worshiping?”
“Exactly. Humans are inherently weak beings.”
In the past, Oliver wouldn’t have understood such a statement, but now he could at least somewhat grasp it.
He hadn’t accepted it but could understand it.
Forrest soon explained the second reason.
“While you were struggling in the capital, Big Mouth played a significant role as well.”
“Do you mean during the time the citizens were evacuated underground?”
While Oliver was in the capital preventing the apocalypse, Paul Carver, along with the city council members, transformed Landa’s underground into a massive bunker.
This was a precaution in case Oliver failed to prevent the apocalypse.
It was an unprecedented large-scale project, but the city council succeeded, and one of the key factors behind that success was Big Mouth.
Blessed by Oliver, Big Mouth provided food, medical supplies, and resources necessary for Landa’s citizens to survive underground, enabling them to accommodate an otherwise unmanageable number of people.
“A glutton bag that provides endless food and resources to everyone is a miracle. And offering it without any cost makes it even more miraculous.”
“If I had known, I wouldn’t have...”
Oliver stopped himself from saying, “I wouldn’t have supported it.”
Had he not, the plan to convert the underground into a bunker would have failed, leading to unimaginable chaos.
It wasn’t something to joke about, even lightly.
“You seem conflicted.”
“Does it show on my face?”
“A little more than before.”
Oliver touched his face, feeling slightly self-conscious.
Forrest observed him and joked.
“Even with omnipotent power, you make such expressions. It’s amusing.”
“It’s not to that extent.”
“You’re right, it’s not. That’s why I’m writing this book.”
Forrest snapped his fingers and pointed firmly at Oliver.
“To show that you’re not omnipotent. That you don’t know everything or can do everything. And as proof...”
Forrest paused briefly before continuing.
“...you can’t stop people from worshiping you, can you? It’s a kind of paradox. That’s why I called my plan clever.”
Oliver acknowledged it.
“Yes... because you’re helping me with what I can’t do.”
“I’m your intermediary, aren’t I? Filling in where you fall short is my job.”
Forrest spoke proudly, not with arrogance, but with a genuine desire to assist Oliver.
Yet, such a sentiment quickly faded.
“...Even so, my book won’t completely negate people’s faith. It’s hard to instill faith, but even harder to take it away.”
"That sounds like words of experience."
"How long do you think I've been in this line of work? Do you know how many cults thrive in the underbelly of Landa? Ah, of course, I'm not saying you're a cult."
"It's fine to call me a cult. To be honest, I am one."
Forrest found the irony amusing. While a fake claimed to be real, the real one was calling himself fake.
Or perhaps the ability to call oneself fake was something only the real could do.
A privilege that came with being real.
"Hmm, others won’t think the same, whether you want it or not. Because worship isn’t for the god; it’s for the worshiper. To erase their fears, to overcome their weaknesses."
Oliver remained silent, simply listening.
Forrest suddenly posed a question.
"Can’t you erase people’s memories? If you hate being worshiped so much? If you erase their memories of you, all of this will disappear too."
It was a question predicated on the idea that Oliver could do anything.
Oliver took a sip of his drink and answered.
"I can, but I won’t."
"Ah... is it because the apocalypse itself would be forgotten?"
"No, I could erase just my presence, leaving the memory of the apocalypse intact. But it would be meaningless. Changing people directly is meaningless."
"..."
"That’s like giving fish to someone trying to catch fish. The results might be the same, but the process is entirely different."
"To be someone who catches fish, not someone who receives fish?"
"Yes. That’s how it should be for humans."
"Hah... it’s complicated."
"It’s not. You already understand it, Forrest."
Oliver’s gaze turned to Forrest, who had employed the Red Men and eventually entrusted them with his restaurant.
Forrest chuckled as if the remark amused him.
"Then I’ll work even harder on my book, to show that you’re not so different from everyone else."
Oliver silently agreed.
"That you also have things you can’t do, that you make mistakes, that you have a fondness for money, and that you tell corny jokes like any regular person."
"My jokes aren’t corny. They’re funny."
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha... That one was a bit funny."
Forrest let out a forced, unnatural laugh.
That laugh carried the sentiment, “No matter what you say, I won’t admit it.”
"I like you, Forrest, but I do find that attitude slightly frustrating."
"If you’re unhappy, then write your own book."
"I’ve never regretted working with you, but right now, I regret it a little."
"You need to face disappointment to grow... Alright, enough idle chatter."
"I’m being serious, though."
Forrest brushed off Oliver’s remark and stood up, bringing out a contract.
It detailed the revenue sharing for the upcoming book publication.
There wasn’t much to it: a 50-50 split, with Oliver’s share to be managed by the redevelopment alliance.
"I was planning to have you sign after the book was complete, but it feels like now is my only chance—"
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Before Forrest could finish speaking, Oliver signed the contract without hesitation.
Knowing what that signature meant, Forrest’s expression darkened.
"...Does this mean we won’t see each other again?"
Forrest accepted the contract Oliver handed back and asked.
Oliver shook his head.
"We’ll meet again someday."
"Can’t you at least say goodbye to Marie and Joe before you leave? Miss Jane is here too."
"We’ve already had all the necessary conversations. They’re doing well on their own, which is proof enough. I’ll miss them, but this is just right. Excess is never good."
"That... is true."
Forrest reluctantly acknowledged it.
He understood just how much impact a single step from Oliver could have.
Even an insignificant gesture from Oliver could be imbued with countless meanings, potentially spiraling into an uncontrollable storm.
In that moment, Forrest felt he understood why Oliver was so averse to meddling directly with people.
Dealing with people that way would eventually lead to erasing them entirely—
Erasing them when unnecessary and recreating them when needed.
An unfathomably convenient, efficient, and ultimately cruel approach.
Perhaps that was why gods kept their distance from humanity.
"It must be lonely."
"Do I look that way?"
"Forgive my presumption, but yes. Acting as an intermediary means meeting many people who have wealth or power. Ironically, the more they have, the lonelier they seem."
Forrest spoke a truth disguised as a joke.
People who have too much often find themselves alone.
Family, friends, lovers—all began to see them not as a person but as a money pouch or a dispenser of power.
It was no coincidence that many kings in history fell victim to paranoia and distrust of humanity.
Great blessings often resembled curses, devouring the individual under the weight of their own fortune.
If mere humans, who lived less than a century, could feel such burdens, how much more so for a being close to a god?
Forrest felt he was beginning to understand why Oliver had struggled so deeply.
"My perspective is different."
"Is it?"
"Yes, because I have all of you."
"That... is rather heartwarming."
Forrest smiled as Oliver rose from his seat.
At the same time, Oliver exploited a moment of vulnerability in Forrest’s demeanor.
"In that spirit, may I ask you a favor? You are my intermediary, after all."
Forrest stood as well and responded.
"I feel like I’m being tricked, but go ahead. I’m too powerless to object."
With permission granted, Oliver extended his quarterstaff.
"Please take this. I need to pass it on to someone, but I worry it might cause misunderstandings."
"This is..."
Forrest hesitated to accept the quarterstaff.
This was a meaningful item given to Oliver by Kent, a piece that was more like a part of Oliver's body than a mere object.
"Are you serious?"
"I no longer need it. I trust you will make good use of it."
"...Very well."
After a long silence, Forrest accepted the quarterstaff with trembling hands.
Though it felt moderately heavy, it also carried an immense weight.
"One more thing. Could I also ask you to look after Childs? Please help them adapt to society with the staff at Angels House."
"That’s quite a large request."
"That’s why I’m asking you. For what it’s worth, they’ll no longer need life force or emotions."
"This is why people should be wary when they hear compliments."
Forrest grumbled but nodded.
"Is that all for the requests?"
"I’d like to say more, but I think you’d get angry, so I’ll stop here."
"How considerate of you."
Forrest extended his hand.
Oliver took it and they shook hands.
As Forrest tightened his grip, he asked in a low voice.
"Are you leaving now?"
"Yes, it’s been fun until the end. Just like when I first arrived here... Forrest, did you enjoy it too?"
"Fun? No, it was an honor."
Forrest gave a heartfelt smile.
Oliver looked at that smile with satisfaction, then quietly opened the office door and left.
Tap-tap-tap. Ting! Clank!
Beyond the closed door, the sound of Forrest returning to his work could be heard.
Oliver walked down the hallway, opened the front door, and stepped outside.
Murmur. Murmur. Murmur.
When the door opened, it was not District X that greeted him but District Z.
He had crossed space.
Standing before him were the people who had been waiting: the members of the Anti-Development committee freed from the curse of hell, as well as Eve, Pandora, Lilith, and finally Ewan.
"Have you all been waiting long?"
