“……Ah.”
Now I understood.
Thesilid Argent’s life had been one of enduring unhappiness.
Having suffered countless losses and endured immeasurable betrayals, he viewed life as a penance, a struggle, a desperate fight. Naturally, he believed in neither hope nor miracles.
Moreover, the world was in a pessimistic state, slowly crumbling.
Thus, the genre did not permit the freedom to overcome misfortune. Not for him, nor for his world.
This compatibility was the worst. As I stood there in a daze, my deity warned me of a dangerous possibility.
[‘The World-Building Word’ says that at this rate, you might be trapped in the genre and never wake up.]
It made sense. I, too, was part of his world.
✠
More than two weeks had passed since the first snow fell on the Elpenheim Theocracy—no, the Holy Word Empire.
The damage from the dungeon drain…