The smell of burnt objects entered my nostrils. My lungs hurt strangely, as if I had inhaled some smoke without knowing it. I cleared my throat several times, but the discomfort in my body did not go away. The only thing that came out was a little sticky phlegm.

"So, brave man. Let me ask you again. Is your god the same as our god, or is he a false god wearing a different mask?

　While I still can't even calm my breathing, that innocent voice throws itself into my ear.

　Give me a break. I'm still trying to wrap my head around this. I'd rather have a night to sleep like a tree. I look up at the person in front of me from my seated position with wrinkles between my brows.

　Even though he has calmed down, he still has the audacity to walk into a place that could be called a fire pit without hesitation and not change his expression at all. In a world where everything seemed to be covered in soot, the owner of the voice alone had a presence that seemed to transform the air around her.

　She was the one called the Saint. The light gleaming in her eyes is an unmistakable sign of faith. With her long, slender, yet neatly coiffed hair, she may have been born into a higher class. Her gestures and solemn atmosphere are refined to the utmost degree, and they tickle the expectations of ordinary people who think that she can do something important that they cannot do.

　That's why she is called a saint. She definitely has an element that attracts people. I guess this is what people call charisma. It's something I've never been exposed to. I sniffle.

"Give me a minute. I'm still trying to decide if you're really alive or if you're actually dead and you're the guardian of hell.

　His hand went to his chest to take a chewing tobacco from his pocket, but his hand went straight through the air. I knew that it had been burned away along with my new clothes when I was burned out, but it seems that habits don't go away that easily.

　He bites his back teeth viciously and squints his eyes for a moment. Probably not a wise choice to answer this question immediately. The other party was a dozen or so saintly women and other fierce believers. All of them are staring at you with glaring eyes. Their gaze is that of a bird of prey. On the other side, we have Kalia, Held Stanley. And Fialaat La Volgograd, who is still dreaming and unconscious.

　I let out a deep sigh of bewilderment and anguish, and my lungs ached.

　I'm sure I've just died a glorious death, so why is this happening to me? If you're looking down on me from above, I'd like some answers. Hey, God.

　Hey, God.

　I had just stepped not one, but both feet into death, and was thinking that I would never have to do anything again, when a light shone in my eyes. Reflexively, I close my eyelids and squint. I blinked a few times, and when my eyes were finally ready to do their job again, a girl came into my sight.

　It was Kalia, with her magnificent silver hair in two tufts and carrying a long sword. Her brow was twisted into a grim expression, giving off an air of swordsmanship.

　But it's a strange story. I thought it was only me and Fearalert who were going to the other world as friends of the god of death. I can't imagine this woman dying. Oh no, or perhaps she's just a pilot on her way to heaven or hell. I heard that she appears in the form of a person I knew before her death.

"You're awake at last. You've been imitating the eternal sleeper from the theater, haven't you?

　You've been imitating the Eternal Sleeper from the play, haven't you?" Her cheeks lifted wickedly, and she said I should have kissed her.

　I was convinced. This is not a fake, or an imitation, or anything like that. This is Kalia herself. No one else but this woman could pull off such a useless, mind-boggling phrase. If there is going to be a pilot in the form of an acquaintance, I hope it will be Alueno at least. If this evil woman comes out at the end of the story, it would be better to have the guardian of hell himself come out.

　But if that's the case. If the Kalia in front of me is not an imitation but the real thing, then I'm alive, and I'm opening my eyes like this in my own body.

　Why is that? The only question that arises in my dull mind, which is still unable to think properly, is this. I offered my body to the flames, and the heat must have invaded the depths of my guts. If I were a human being, the only thing that awaited me would be undeniable death.

　He bites his lip as he lowers the corners of his mouth in a daze.

...... Well, yeah. If you want to thank him, you can tell him that your life is undoubtedly a credit to him. And for my precious sword.

　It's a good thing that you're not the only one who has a problem with this.

　The reason was Fialat's magical recovery. It's not completely clear to me, but if you say it was her work, I can understand it to a certain extent.

　She is a genius, no doubt about it. Even if she was complaining that she couldn't use magic, it would make sense if she showed her talent in a fire, as she said.

　Well, even if that's the case, I'm not sure why he saved my life. To Fialaat, I'm probably just another rock in the road. Or perhaps she still had the conscience to give to a worthless pebble in this age.

　--Knock, knock.

　The sound of footsteps echoing through the room. The sound of footsteps echoing strangely throughout the room, as if they were conscious, but they were clearly approaching us. And there's more than one.

　That's not good. My teeth clench together as quickly as I can. At least this one, Phialert, is out of the fight. My eyes are still adjusting to the sight, and the light is flickering in front of me. My body, too, feels uncomfortable, or maybe it's a foreign body sensation. At any rate, he was still suffering from the aftereffects of the accident, and could not be said to be at his best. Kalia and Helt Stanley. With just the two of them, they could survive most crises. But not if they're accompanied by a slow learner.



　As my thoughts crawled through my brain at a sluggish pace, the identity of the footsteps soon became apparent. I knew what to expect, of course. Stepping on ashes and carefully avoiding burnt foreign objects, the woman appeared in front of us. With a dozen armed soldiers.

"Admire your courage, unknown one. The wise and the brave are to be revered, and in accordance with this doctrine, I too shall pay my respects to you.

　It's the saint, the woman they call her. This is not the same as the angry voice that I heard in the chapel earlier, but it is too polite, and I reflexively felt a chill inside my body.

　It was an instant chill. Some of it comes from experience, but polite language is often used by those who have something on their mind. Like the nobles at the royal court who veil their malice with words, or the poor who flatter the rich for a share of their wealth.

　This woman is up to something. Definitely. Otherwise, she wouldn't have brought a dozen soldiers behind her, which is more than enough to protect her.

Excuse me for greeting you at such a fire. I'm Mattia. Saint Mattia, they call me. But I'm not qualified to be called a saint.

　The sound of her voice is certainly pure and inviting. It's as if it's telling you that there is no other side to the story. Oh, that's why it's so scary. It's like my guts are turning inside out. These Old Ones are up to no good, that's for sure.

Thank you, sir. It's an honor. Well, then, I hope you'll forgive me for all the trouble I've caused with the saint's face.

　It's an unfortunate misunderstanding," he joked, probingly. For a moment, I could see the corner of the saint's eyes move.

"Yes, there is no anger in this heart from the beginning. For heralds, all lives and goods are meant to be returned to the gods. All that is burned and lost will only be consolidated to the gods. In other words, the loss itself is the will of God. What is more foolish than to hold a grudge against it?

　Kalia is nodding her chin as if silently saying something, but I'm sure she and Heldt are aware of it.

　This is sophistry, or even if it is true, the only person who understands it is her, Saint Mattia. Just look at the people behind her. Their eyes are filled with rage, and the trembling of their limbs is proof that they are forcibly suppressing their emotions. Their hearts must be boiling.

　The crisis is not over yet. We're thrown into the middle of a cataclysm.

I never even heard of your purpose. Let me ask you again. Is your god the same as ours, or is he a false god in a different mask?

　Without any malice or good intentions. Without any malice or good intentions, the saintly Mattia said this as if asking the obvious.