Surviving without God

The sun stood high at its zenith, yet a deathly silence reigned in the ship’s corridors.

Exhaustion from the night battle and the long voyage had taken its toll—everyone lay sprawled across their bunks. Only the occasional footsteps of watch sailors broke the stillness. And yet, even within that quiet, muted voices drifted from one cabin.

Moon Wolf, Cheonmae, and the “girl in bandages”—Zahara. The three leaders of the Execution Unit had gathered together. Leaning against the wall, Zahara spoke first:

— Honestly, I don’t trust him very much.

Cheonmae and Moon Wolf turned toward her at the same time.

— In what way?

— Who?

Zahara simply spread her hands, as if surprised by their lack of understanding.

— Who else? A member who’s barely been in the organization for a year, suddenly making the calls in an operation this important.

She was talking about Gunther. Their brows twitched involuntarily. But before they could respond, Zahara continued:

— I know, I know. I’m not denying that Moonless is talented. I’m aware that ever since he joined, he’s been producing one miracle after another. I’m not disputing that.

— Then what’s the problem?

Zahara’s eyes narrowed.

— No matter his achievements, there should still be a basis for his decisions. In a situation like this, choosing a destination is a decision that determines the life of the entire unit. And he just asks us to follow him without explanation? And you two accept that without saying a word?

Silence hung in the air. Zahara shifted her gaze between them. She could understand the Fourth and Fifth Platoons, but the fact that even Cheonmae and Moon Wolf followed Gunther without objection didn’t sit right with her.

— That’s blind loyalty.

At those words, Moon Wolf cast Cheonmae a strange glance.

— ...What?

— Nothing. Just remembered someone who said the exact same thing.

— ...That’s why I’m keeping quiet now, — Cheonmae muttered, since she herself had once been full of doubts about Gunther.

As Cheonmae awkwardly looked away, Moon Wolf spoke quietly:

— ...No need to look far. Have you read the report on the Kingdom of Valloren?

— That... — Zahara’s pupils trembled faintly. — One wrong move and everything would have gone up in flames. Valloren’s leadership turned out far more incompetent than we expected, and Luthien’s underground operations were truly terrifying. But he walked the razor’s edge and handled it all.

Just like in all of Gunther’s other exploits.

— It’s not coincidence. Moonless always operates like that. You just don’t notice it unless you’ve observed him over a long period of time.

Zahara slowly shook her head. It wasn’t agreement so much as a sign she wouldn’t push the issue further.

— I’m not trying to downplay his achievements. I feel like some nagging instructor criticizing a rookie... I’m just worried.

Cheonmae cut in sharply:

— Why? Because of the signs of the Cult of Trust’s interference?

— ...Yes. They’re different.

Zahara let out a heavy sigh and touched the bandages covering her face.

— I’ll take them off for a moment. Bear with it if it’s unpleasant to look at.

— It’s fine, Zahara. ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) You don’t have to wear them at all.

— It’s not fine for me.

Shhh—

The bandages loosened and slipped down, revealing Zahara’s face.

Her honey-toned skin, hardened by the desert sun, held a soft glow. Cold violet eyes carried a deep, heavy gaze. There was a noble maturity in her features, the presence of a woman well past thirty. A beauty mark beneath her left eye completed the balance of her face. It was difficult to look away... if not for the right side, completely disfigured by burns.

Zahara absentmindedly scratched the reddened skin and muttered:

— This sea is the perfect environment for the Cult of Trust. Just like the Sultan’s harem where I lived.

Her lips were smiling, but her eyes remained cold.

— The more betrayal spreads, the stronger their power becomes. One mistake, and they’ll start manipulating us.

She recalled the harem where she had spent half her life. It had not been a blooming garden. From the outside—silk, incense, golden threads, a paradise on earth. But inside—it was a battlefield for power. It could not be otherwise. The Sultan’s children had different mothers, and each fought to ensure her own survival and her heir’s rise, weaving schemes with eunuchs, ministers, and the army.

And then the Sultan died suddenly. At that exact moment, the Cult of Trust entered the desert empire. They did not wield swords. They merely fanned the innate desires and distrust within people. If not for the Audrey House incident weakening their Apostle, the empire would still be in their hands.

— Nereus smells the same as that harem now.

Moon Wolf and Cheonmae narrowed their eyes silently.

— The Great Admiral disappeared, and his sea routes, military power, negotiation rights, and information—all left ownerless. A sea of opportunity appeared. And around it? Armed factions... greedy pirates who can’t be trusted. Do you really think they’ll remain loyal to each other to the end?

Outside the cabin, the sea heaved heavily. Zahara began wrapping her face again. White cloth covered the honeyed skin and the burn scars, leaving only her violet eyes. With each layer, her emotions vanished.

— When distrust multiplies, when division deepens and betrayal becomes ordinary... the power of the Cult of Trust grows. The less people believe in each other, the clearer the face of their god—Beltrahi.

Their methods were different from the Cult of Repose. They didn’t erase the mind to repaint it. They simply nudged what was already inside.

— If you don’t want to see the person closest to you pour oil over you and set you on fire... — she tightened the knot and whispered, — keep your guard up.

She turned her gaze from her companions to the porthole. Behind the bandages, her cold stare carried more than just a warning.

— I sincerely hope... your precious Moonless can prevent such a tragedy.

She took a breath and added:

— I truly hope so.

Moon Wolf remained silent for a moment, then asked:

— So you don’t really trust Gunther... or us.

Zahara’s lips curved faintly beneath the bandages.

— If you don’t trust, you won’t be betrayed. I’m only here to do my job.

The greater the trust, the deeper the wound of betrayal. That was why Gunther’s relationship with the unit unsettled her.

Splash—

A wave struck the hull. The ship endured the rocking and continued its course toward the northern seas.

.

.

.

— Don’t start shouting about how amazing Gunther is later, — Cheonmae smirked as she left the cabin.

***

— Here. Take it. It’s yours now.

Gunther casually handed over the item he had been carrying around unused. The one who received it froze for a moment. Her usually calm golden eyes widened. Shock, confusion, and undisguised joy flooded them, making her pupils shine brightly.

— R-really? You’re giving this to me? Why? We only just met today...

— You need this staff more than I do.

— Well, that’s true, but still...

Her golden eyes sparkled with a familiar light. Déjà vu again. Gunther already knew the line that would follow—a joke to hide her embarrassment.

— Hmm, do you even understand what it means to give a staff to a mage?

— I have my own tastes too.

Crack!

Tarsha Everlight lightly zapped him with a spark of lightning. Surprised at herself, she shook the staff.

— Oh, sorry. That just slipped out. Habit. Why does this feel so familiar...

She coughed and hugged the staff to her chest.

— And it feels like it belongs in my hand...

It was the sacred item of the Ruler of the Oceans, which she had wielded in the previous regression. Back then, it had seemed like nothing more than a crude, old staff. But after Gunther offered Karma to the deity, it had changed. Its long, dark-blue shaft gleamed smoothly, as if carved from the depths of the abyss, and at its top rested a deep-blue gem. The stone was so large that the magic within it could be seen swirling like real waves. Tarsha stroked it in awe.

— It’ll be extremely useful in the Black Routes.

— Of course! There’s so much water magic inside... And I’m a lightning mage—do you realize what kind of resonance that creates? Sparks everywhere, it’s incredible!

Gunther knew that, which was why he gave it to her. The Black Routes were a place where storms and currents threatened ships every second. In Tarsha’s hands, this staff would show terrifying effectiveness.

[The Ruler of the Oceans looks at you with displeasure]

[Expresses regret that you resemble a knight more than a mage]

[Affinity with Tarsha Everlight increases: 70 → 75]

After that, they continued chatting for a long time, leaning against the deck railing. Gunther confirmed that her life was far more stable now than before, and felt a quiet sense of pride.

“It wasn’t for nothing that I rewrote reality.”

Her younger brother, who had once died, was now alive. If the Tarsha from the previous iteration had known this, she would have been immeasurably happy.

— So where is your brother now?

— Somewhere safe. Times are too chaotic right now.

Meanwhile, one topic caught Gunther’s attention in particular. Tarsha casually dropped a remark that seemed to trouble her the most:

— Anyway... keep an eye on Levain Bernecker. He’s having a hard time.

Gunther froze. He remembered Levain’s exhausted face from the night before, when he had come out onto the deck.

If Gunther was the head of this “family,” then Levain was like the eldest son. The type who silently carried responsibility and took care of others. He never complained, hiding his pain behind a smile. But yesterday had been different. He had been so worn down he couldn’t hide it. And when he saw the Black Wind’s flag, his eyes had gone empty.

— ...Levain and I have a lot in common.

— ...?

— Why are you looking at me like that?

— No, go on.

Tarsha glanced briefly toward the cabins and continued:

— We both love magic. And we both lost a lot because of pirates connected to Luthien.

The difference was that her brother had miraculously returned... while Levain had lost everyone.

— ...How can I possibly dare comfort him?

She lowered her gaze. Gunther didn’t answer. He couldn’t measure the depth of that wound either. Losing one’s family to someone else’s malice was one of the worst things a person could endure.

“...I need to watch him carefully.”

And there were reasons for that. The Cult of Trust. Beltrahi. A god and its followers who sought cracks between people, widened them, and turned them into wounds where a blade could easily slip in. Gunther remembered how, in the original game, scenarios involving that cult led to chains of betrayal among allies, ruining entire runs.

But even without calculation, he couldn’t ignore Levain’s condition.

“...Betrayal, huh.”

In truth, as long as he could see affinity levels, he wasn’t overly worried about internal fractures. And more importantly—

“I have a trump card too.”

The moment he realized the enemy was the Cult of Trust, a perfect plan had already taken shape in his mind.

[The Vanguard of the Dark Night winks at you]

[He calls you to his temple, saying something extremely amusing is happening there]

It seemed Gunther had connected with a high-seat deity—one directly tied to “betrayal”—at exactly the right time.