Surviving without God

Gunther looked at the old notebook lying before him.

“...My name is really written in there?”

These records were about thirty years old—a time when “Gunther” had not even been born yet. Of course, if it was Ellen Beyra, who possessed the perfect Tablet, then nothing was impossible. And yet, a strange feeling gripped Gunther—something he couldn’t quite put into words.

When he had first arrived in this world, he thought of Gunther as nothing more than a background extra. But ever since his characteristic “???”—linked to Return After Death—had awakened, one question had never left him.

“Why me...?”

And now. The old notebook in front of him might hold the key.

Gunther took a deep breath and reached out.

“...?!”

But something was wrong. No matter how he strained his arm, the cover wouldn’t move.

“What the hell?”

No—his hand simply wouldn’t move. A strange sensation. Silence. The sound of waves striking the hull and the cries of bizarre birds circling above the Black Paths—all of it vanished.

“...Hah.”

Despite the obvious anomaly, the Great Admiral didn’t say a word. He simply froze, head slightly tilted. It was at that moment that Gunther felt a faint presence behind him.

“Who’s there?”

But before he could turn—

Tap.

Another hand rested over Gunther’s, which lay on the notebook. The skin was so pale it seemed almost translucent. And a familiar voice whispered right beside his ear:

— Hello, Gunther. It’s been a while.

Only then did Gunther regain control of his body and turn.

“...It has,” he forced out.

He exhaled heavily and finished:

— Both of you.

The one holding his hand and preventing him from reading was ◆. He looked as usual: a strict suit, neatly combed-back black hair glinting faintly under the cabin lamps.

— Hello, Gunther. Sorry for barging in uninvited.

Behind ◆ stood ◇—dressed like a witch in a long robe and pointed hat. She cast him a slightly annoyed glance at her companion, but when her eyes met Gunther’s, she slowly waved.

Before they could begin, Gunther spoke first.

— You came at the right time. I was about to ask you something.

— And what might that be?

— They say the two of you are fragments of the god of time.

After a brief pause, he added:

— ...At least, that’s what my grandmother said.

The moment he said it, the corners of ◆’s lips slowly curled upward.

— Ha-ha.

A short laugh. Then he shrugged casually.

— The predecessor priestess used rather grand words. We’re not that great. Just... somewhat stale fragments.

— Your way of dodging answers is getting on my nerves.

◆ removed his hand from the notebook, walked around the table, and casually rested his chin on the head of the frozen Great Admiral.

— Don’t be so angry. After all, we’ll appear before you like this... only twice. Including now.

“...Twice?”

— Anyway, to the point.

He pointed at the notebook.

— I’d rather you didn’t read that. For everyone’s sake. And for your own as well.

Gunther was about to scoff at words that had no effect on him—but then another voice intervened.

— This time, I agree.

From beneath the pointed hat, violet eyes fixed on him.

— I don’t want you to read it either, Gunther.

◇ spoke in her usual light tone, almost like humming a song. But for some reason, this time, that lightness felt forced.

— My reasons are different from ◆’s... but we want the same thing. Gunther, don’t read the notebook.

Gunther’s brows twitched. He was confused—but quickly regained composure and began to analyze.

“...This is different from the Tablet situation. Why?”

Back then, their opinions had diverged. ◇ wanted him to find the Tablet, while ◆ warned him away, insisting it was dangerous. So Gunther had concluded: ◇ wanted him to “learn” the truth, while ◆ wanted him to remain ignorant.

But now, their conclusions aligned. Both of them didn’t want him to read it.

And the most important question: why had Ellen—the priestess of the god of time—left behind something these two so desperately didn’t want him to see? And if they disliked it so much, why hadn’t they destroyed it earlier?

“...Or they couldn’t?”

His thoughts branched into dozens of paths. The answer felt close, yet slipped away like sand through his fingers. But one thing Gunther was certain of.

He slowly raised his gaze, shifting it from ◇ to ◆.

— There’s a law in this world.

Both entities looked at him at the same time.

— If you want something... you have to pay.

You take what you can, weigh everything as you go. It had been the same last time. Right after the Reality Rewrite, he had struck a deal with them and gained two invaluable pieces of information.

◆ had told him that Gunther was the axis of regression and that worlds ceased to exist after his death without observation. And ◇ had revealed the location of Ellen Beyra.

Perhaps it would work again. And if he didn’t like the terms—he would just read the notebook anyway.

Gunther voiced his decision:

— In other words, you’re proposing a deal.

The moment he said it, the expressions of ◇ and ◆ changed strangely. No smiles, no grimaces. Their intentions were unreadable. In the silence that followed, they exchanged glances, as if confirming something wordlessly.

Finally, ◇ spoke for both of them:

— A very serious problem will arise soon. ◆ and I can resolve it.

...A serious problem, huh. Gunther didn’t hesitate long.

— I—

.

.

.

Rustle.

The notebook cover flipped open, revealing yellowed pages. The Great Admiral remained silent, waiting for Gunther to finish reading. It didn’t take long.

— Doesn’t sound like the usual rambling of someone asleep, does it?

“...It doesn’t,” Gunther replied. — I thought so too, and I asked her about it several times when she woke up.

The Great Admiral smiled faintly, as if those memories were infinitely precious to him.

— But she never answered. She only looked at me with eyes full of unbearable sorrow.

“...Full of sorrow...”

Gunther lowered his gaze to the notebook again and slowly reread the lines.

How to put it... It didn’t feel like sleep-talking. It felt like a diary where “prophecy” and “vow” were intertwined.

-------------

Under the influence of light, the shadows retreated 99 times...

Empty space... Not everything must be written perfectly.

I can do it too. I must do it.

I am not like the predecessor.

Failure.

Failure again.

In the end... will I have to break it?

I created a crack.

In the near future, it will shatter into pieces.

I shouldn’t have done this.

I shouldn’t have placed everything on Gunther.

I looked at the scales.

I am a Priestess, but before that, I am a mother.

Oh, how unbearable this is.

Gunther’s eyes narrowed.

Among these lines were things he could guess—but also passages whose meaning completely eluded him.

Under the influence of light, the shadows retreated 99 times...

That line was especially difficult to interpret.

In this world, light was far from a purely positive symbol—considering it was the mark of the Luthien Theocracy. Then what were the shadows? There were many deities associated with shadows, but that didn’t seem to fit.

The number 99 stood out.

His regression limit was also 99. Perhaps it was a symbolic number tied to “time.”

“...I can’t understand more right now.”

Next lines:

Empty space... Not everything must be written perfectly. I can do it too. I must do it. I am not like the predecessor.

That part could be interpreted. The One-Eyed King had once used the term “Empty Space” when speaking to Gunther. Blank spaces left in the Tablet—possibilities.

In other words, Ellen Beyra had hoped for imperfection in the Tablet. Even if its records were absolute, she wanted to change the predetermined future.

But then came the next lines:

Failure. Failure again. In the end... will I have to break it? I created a crack. In the near future, it will shatter into pieces.

Here, Gunther’s thoughts aligned into a clear chain. Ellen Beyra had tried something—and failed. In the end, she chose to break the Tablet itself to create variables in fate.

“So the Tablet was broken by Ellen’s will...”

...It seemed she believed that by destroying the object that recorded observed results, the result itself would change. And in any case, it worked. The Tablet truly shattered, its fragments scattered across the continent.

“This happened before she left the Border City.”

Was that the cause of what followed? They said she began behaving like a madwoman after that. The old man from the Society of Forgotten Books and Mikhela Iska had both left testimony.

And ten years later, Ellen Beyra gave birth to Gunther in a secluded village of Nereus. She likely knew the fate awaiting him.

I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have placed everything on Gunther.

She regretted breaking the Tablet.

“By destroying it... she placed the entire burden on me.”

A clear example: wasn’t it because of this that Dominic fell into Luthien’s hands, granting them immense power?

Gunther’s gaze dropped to the final line.

I looked at the scales. I am a Priestess, but... before that, I am a mother. Oh, how unbearable this is.

...That line was impossible to interpret.

At that moment, the Great Admiral spoke calmly:

— Take your time thinking about it. Keep the notebook.

Gunther looked up.

— Are you sure? It’s something that holds your memories.

The Great Admiral laughed openly.

— What use are keepsakes when I’ve set out to meet the real Ellen?

For Gunther, it was fortunate. Even if he couldn’t solve the puzzle now, having the notebook meant he would eventually find a clue. Or the journey ahead would provide the missing connections.

“...Besides, I have some guesses.”

It was a little unfortunate he had declined the Rhombuses’ offer to “solve the problem.” But Gunther still had around seventy regressions left. Any problem could be dealt with.

— Then I’ll be going.

— You’ve done well, Gunther. See you tomorrow.

Gunther gave a slight bow and left the Great Admiral’s cabin. In the corridor, he called out to the raccoon-type beastkin lingering nearby.

— Madam Mayor.

— ...Ah, Mr. Gunther. I, um... wasn’t eavesdropping or anything...

Mikhela Iska coughed awkwardly. Gunther nodded calmly.

— With your keen hearing, you must have heard our conversation. And... how could this topic not interest you? You were close friends with my mother.

A short pause.

Mikhela nodded lightly, confirming she had heard everything. Gunther didn’t react. It didn’t matter.

Clap.

He pulled the notebook from his coat and handed it to her.

— Could you study these lines carefully today? If anything comes to mind, tell me.

— ...Of course.

Mikhela accepted the notebook carefully. Excitement showed on her face—it was likely a precious memento from her friend. After bowing, she headed toward her cabin.

Gunther remained alone in the corridor.

The long hallway was dimly lit. He stood for a moment, then instead of heading to his room, slowly reached into his coat and pulled out something else.

Woooo—

A low vibration. It was the Tablet he had obtained in Valloren. After death, the cooldown of the skill “Reading” had reset.

[Do you wish to read the “Tablet Fragment”?]

...But Gunther didn’t answer immediately. The “problem that would soon arise,” mentioned by the Rhombuses, bothered him.

“Better save Reading.”

But something else worried him even more. What the Tablet would show. Just because it came °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° from Valloren didn’t mean it would show events tied to that place. The Tablet always revealed what “it wanted.”

For example, the one he received from Mikhela had suddenly shown Dominic—and it hadn’t been just a memory. It had led to interference with the past.

“No matter what it shows...”

Gunther’s eyes narrowed.

“If I’m dragged into the past again...”

It could change the present of his companions.

After a brief hesitation, Gunther tucked the Tablet deeper into his coat. Not now.

He couldn’t explain why—but his instincts told him so.

“...I should sleep.”

In a few days, they would reach the Sea Dragon’s domain. All that remained was a simple formality: ensure the Great Admiral awakened it. But anything could happen at any moment. Better to conserve his strength.

Gunther stopped overthinking and quietly walked down the dark corridor toward his cabin.

.

.

.

At the same time.

The holy capital of the Luthien Theocracy—Agnor.

Deep within the heart of the capital, in the council chamber, archbishops began to gather one by one.

A string of defeats. The death of the Archbishop of Trust. Even the commander of the Society of Holy Flame had fallen in battle.

Even for Luthien, which held hegemony over the continent, such losses should have filled the hall with anger and heavy silence.

But...

— ......

There was only silence.

No outrage. No sighs. Not even a voice calling for accountability.

Only reverent stillness filled the chamber. The air was so heavy that even breathing felt like a mistake.

There was only one reason.

The place that had been empty for over ten years.

The place toward which every gaze was directed.

Because there—

Sat its master.

A head slowly lifted.

And the Pope smiled.