Chapter 14: I Am Not a God

His breathing grew heavy, his eyes slightly bloodshot. Such immense benefits were laid out before him, yet why did he feel... a sense of revulsion?

Yes, revulsion. He was disgusted by this feeling.

It was just like when he stood on the docks, looking at the ugly, bloated monsters; even though he knew supernatural powers existed in this world, he still instinctively tried to use his knowledge to probe the truth of what lay before him.

Some things are etched deep into the soul.

He knew very little about this world, yet he still struggled to piece together its true form using the clues in his hands.

Questioning, reflecting—this is how human civilization was born, and modern science is the abundant fruit it has borne. Even if the world had changed and his knowledge had become worthless scraps of paper, he had never abandoned the act of questioning and thinking.

And what of gods?

Gods only demand obedience, whereas science encourages questioning.

In his previous life, he was merely an ordinary man. He did not believe in gods; he believed only in himself. He had fed himself with his own hands and chased his dreams with his own feet.

In this life, his origins were unknown, and perhaps gods truly existed. Was he meant to bow down before them, or allow these banshees to place him upon a divine throne?

To walk the path of those before him, to play the part of a god or a ghost—was that all he was capable of?

Hughes closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

So what if there are gods, and what if there are none? How arrogant were the humans of his past life! They measured the world with their own feet, and the star maps they constructed with science and conviction left no room for gods at all.

Hughes, you have witnessed the glory of mortals; are you now going to succumb to greed?

Gods? Curses? Prophecies?

What he had clearly seen was a group of slaves bravely rising up, smashing their own shackles with their own hands. Was he now to step in and claim the laurel wreath?

Hughes suddenly opened his eyes.

The chaotic and turbulent thoughts scattered away. His will, tempered by temptation, became as hard as steel, and there was no more wavering in his eyes.

"Rise, banshees! You should not bow before me!" Hughes declared loudly. The banshees raised their heads, looking at the small human with eyes full of confusion.

He looked to his side. "Ash, tell me, was the water pressure I spoke of on the docks correct or incorrect?"

Ash was somewhat startled. "Of course it was correct. We have already returned to our original forms."

"I said at the time that this was knowledge from books. Do you remember?"

Ash nodded. "Yes, you did say that."

"Then, was it I who freed you from the curse, or was it knowledge?"

Ash froze, then his eyes widened.

Hughes stepped forward and looked around. "Banshees, I ask you: who fought a bloody path through the encirclement of the mermen? Who blocked the cannon fire of the ghost ship? Was it I?"

The banshees were stunned. They vaguely realized what Hughes was trying to do. That terrifying possibility... no, even just thinking about it made them tremble.

Some banshees looked down at their own hands, at a loss. Others held their heads in pain, their eyes filled with bewilderment.

Hughes knew that these banshees already had the answer in their hearts; they were simply afraid to face it. He needed to fan the flames.

One banshee hesitantly stood up and replied, "We... we fought for you, for our god."

"You fought for your freedom!" Hughes said loudly without hesitation. "What I saw were brave and fearless warriors. I saw unhesitating sacrifice. I saw noble rage surging in your eyes. I saw you shatter the chains of fate with your own hands."

"You are no longer slaves. This is not a gift from the gods, but a victory you bought with your own courage and blood."

The seabed was as quiet as a snowy morning. The banshees' faces were filled with shock and even fear. What Hughes said was something they had never dared to imagine. These words were earth-shattering, bordering on blasphemy, yet... these were the words of their own god.

Gods save the banshees, and the banshees protect the gods—this was an ancient ballad, a belief deeply carved into every banshee. They had sung this song while guarding their homes thousands of years ago, and they had sung it while enduring their curse. They had assumed they would continue to sing it while welcoming new gods, forever.

But now, someone had stepped forward to tell them that the banshees should be singing for themselves.

The banshees fell into chaos. Their worldview had developed a hairline fracture, and then, this human had shattered it into pieces.

"We... are no longer slaves..." one banshee murmured.

More banshees raised their heads. They tried to think. In the past, they only needed to obey—obey the gods, obey the slave masters, obey the prophecies, obey fate.

But now, the god they had chosen was asking them to try to think.

Slowly, the answer that felt so incredible began to emerge in the hearts of the banshees. Even more terrifying to them was that this answer came from their own reasoning.

The atmosphere was dreadfully silent. The banshees hung their heads, not daring to acknowledge the terrible truth that had leapt into their minds.

Hughes waited patiently. He knew that some things were already on the verge of being spoken.

Finally, one banshee straightened up and looked at Hughes, her face full of terror. "That is to say, you, you, you are not..." She covered her mouth, shaking her head violently as if trying to swallow her own words.

"Yes, I am not a god."

Hearing this, the banshees looked up at Hughes in shock. Time seemed to have frozen.

"I am not a god. I was not a god in the past, and I will not become one in the future," Hughes said slowly but firmly. "I am merely a mortal."

The banshees fell silent once more.

What had they just heard? A god denying his own existence.

Even though they had just begun to suspect it, hearing Hughes admit it himself still caused them a great shock.

Yet, for some reason, when the suspicion first arose, they were terrified; when the suspicion began to come true, they trembled; but now that it had become the truth, they felt a sense of relief.

Some banshees still could not accept the fact, ranting and shouting, but others quietly lowered their heads, lost in thought. The scene was in complete disarray.

However, a few banshees gazed at Hughes with piercing eyes. There was no longer fanaticism in their gaze, but something else had taken its place.

Hughes sighed inwardly. He was no saint, nor did he have a moral obsession; he could be greedy, and he could be short-sighted.

But for reasons he could not articulate, seeing those sincere eyes, some words could no longer be spoken.

Having already traversed into this world once, having no reason to fear death, was he still going to hide his cowardice behind lies?

Hughes closed his eyes.

He did not speak again. He knew that these banshees could not accept this fact immediately; they had never even possessed such a concept. If anyone other than him had said these things, the banshees would have scoffed at them. But it was him.

He, the one who had been placed upon a divine throne, had stepped down himself, returning the glory to the banshees.

Would the banshees be grateful to him? Probably not.

Hughes smiled self-deprecatingly and gently closed his eyes.