The Tomb of the Gods (3)
About ten minutes later, Gaold regained consciousness.
His hair was bleached white, but his eyes looked clearer than ever.
Miro asked, "How do you feel?"
"Fine. I'm a hundred percent recovered."
It sounded impossible for a human, but given Gaold now, it seemed plausible.
"He hasn't lost his memory." That meant he was focused on the battle, and the underlying cause was likely Miro.
For the team, that was a stroke of luck.
"If his mind's intact, Gaold is unbeatable."
Arius peered down beneath the hole torn in Imir's dream and said, "This is Depth Level 5. From here on, the real search begins. Shall we proceed?"
"Of course. Let's go now."
At that moment, Monga spoke up. "Wait. I'd like to stay here."
Shirone asked, "Why?"
Monga's ability, Nightmare, was effective even in the depths.
"If Imir truly feels discomfort in this nightmare, I prefer to remain."
Arius nodded. "I see. Imir invited us into the depths to destroy the nightmare. So there's a high chance the Egoist won't activate."
"Because that's what he wants."
"Yes. Conversely, if we remove the nightmare, the Egoist will sweep over us in an instant. Monga's right. Someone has to keep this nightmare alive."
Luber said to Shirone, "There's no door, so we'll have to return through Drimo. Monga staying is the right call."
"Then we'll go down. Monga, take care of things."
Monga nodded, and Arius led Shirone's group as they leapt into the hole.
It was Imir's mind—Depth Level 5. It had already been a week since Shirone had taken his teams to countless worlds.
In that time, a tide of demonic blood had swept through the worlds.
Deaths rose by the day, and screams from the Emotion Sickness never stopped across the central continent.
"Kill me! Aaaah! Just kill me already!"
Those who had nothing left were forced to surrender themselves wholly to the pain.
The lucky ones who met Shirone found brief respite, but it was only a stopgap.
Shirone bit his lip.
"At this rate, everyone will die."
Earthquakes, cold snaps, blazing suns—none were as dreadful as the Emotion Sickness.
"I need to find a solution."
Shirone's gaze turned toward somewhere on the central continent.
The World Health Organization.
Shirone looked through the glass windows lining the long corridor at the patients inside.
Each of them was crushed under pressure; they screamed, but no sound carried out.
"Capacity's limited," Shirone said, turning to Seriel.
It hadn't even been two weeks since the Emotion Sickness began, and her face had aged noticeably.
"Honestly, confinement and experimentation are all we've got. No anesthetic works."
That was the nature of this demonic scourge.
"Don't be so pessimistic. There'll be a way. I'm searching every angle, too."
At the end of the corridor, Seriel's superior Tenos stood.
"You're early."
Tenos nodded. "I can't call this a good morning. We had an emergency convoy at dawn. The whole family is dead."
He pointed to a small counseling room for patients rather than a ward.
Through the door window, a man sat with his head bowed.
"Is that Klein?"
Self-harm scars showed beyond his clothing and his face was skeletal.
Yet… somehow he looked relieved.
"Yes. A farmer from the outskirts of Bashka. Epidemiology suggests he's probably the first infected."
Shirone said nothing.
"It may not mean much, but it's already spread from the central continent down to the southern continent. Wealthy nobles have been coming here daily with bundles of money."
Standing under a no-smoking sign, Tenos lit a cigarette.
"They come with hope, I suppose, to the center of medicine. Maybe there's some way to at least reduce the pain. But we haven't found a cure—or even a way to ease the pain."
"They're all high-ranking officials or royalty," Tenos sneered.
"Isn't that natural? They're lucky. They've arrived here labeled as initial infected. Or maybe unlucky—now they can't even commit suicide."
Specialists' bluntness can offend, so Seriel cut him off. "Let's go in."
Even as the door opened, Klein didn't move; he didn't even react.
His pupils were vacant, his mouth slack—and he somehow looked happy.
"The pain is gone." He had let something go, and Shirone didn't want to know what it was.
From Shirone's perspective, the reason Emotion Sickness was more dangerous than other demonic afflictions wasn't the pain.
"What's truly dangerous is the destruction of material things."
That was why the World Health Organization called Emotion Sickness the "Emotion Scale."
"For example, material goods matter to emotions," Tenos said. "Material is life—food, clothing, shelter—and the sum of those is money. People like you might dismiss it—"
"Shirone doesn't dismiss it."
"Anyway… those with more have more to lose. They're clever, too. They won't just throw everything away to suppress pain. They sort things finely and use them piece by piece. This farmer could do neither."
Rumor had it that within three days of infection he'd been stripped of everything.
After that came only unbearable pain.
And at dawn today, he had lost his children.
"It's not entirely his fault. I thought at least the pain could be lessened."
So far, Shirone had used the Miracle Stream to suppress Emotion Sickness only on researchers.
If there were a way to remove patients' pain, the WHO would become a battlefield.
Understanding what Tenos wanted, Shirone shook his head firmly.
"The criteria are clear. Use is allowed only as the fastest method to stabilize the world. If we act on emotion, we'll only cause more chaos."
"Of course."
No monarch or minister would leave Shirone's mysteries unused.
Tenos kept his eyes on Klein.
'If the world's Yahweh hadn't come here, that man could have been me.'
Klein spoke. "Please kill me."
Seriel walked over and patted his shoulder. "That was an accident. After three days of pain, Klein had already lost reason."
"I should have died. Even if I'd been mad, I should have died."
"Try to calm down." Klein raised his head.
"I don't want to live. If you're going to experiment on me here, do it. Do whatever you like. Cut me open—take what's in my head—do as you please."
A cold silence fell.
Seriel and Tenos held back because this was exactly what they'd been hoping for.
"Experimenting on nobles has limits. There are even senior members of the Holy Order here. If a cure appears, they'll push to be first in line."
Seriel suddenly thought: if the world is racing toward catastrophe and we still argue over this, maybe humans are still worth saving. Since she couldn't change the situation, she cleared her mind and refocused.
"Klein is likely the initial infected." He'd lost his family and felt responsible; he'd stop at nothing.
"I have a few hypotheses I want to verify. At least live trials on banned drugs…"
Seriel shook her head. Don't lose your reason. Rules matter most when things are urgent.
Calmed, she patted Klein. "I appreciate your willingness, but the World Health Organization is bound by the Thirteenth Holy Accord—"
"Please!" Klein cried, falling to his knees and weeping. "I'm so furious—fury that's about to drive me mad. I want revenge on this damn sickness. Use me. Please use me!"
Seriel glanced at Shirone. Human experimentation.
It was likely already happening in the shadows, but the WHO's name carried weight.
"If you won't use him, I'd rather die somewhere no one can find me. I don't want to live in this awful pain anymore."
Shirone asked Tenos, "How effective would it be?"
"It could fail. But for data collection—in quality and quantity there's no comparison. After all, the best biologists in the world are here."
"We must not cause death."
"I can't promise that. He could die."
"Even so, we mustn't proceed with an experiment when we know death is a possible outcome."
Only then did Tenos turn his head. "What are you thinking?"
Shirone stepped up to the kneeling Klein and met his eyes. "It might be hard. Are you truly prepared?"
"Prepared? Ask me to do anything now. I'll do whatever you tell me."
Shirone nodded. "Very well. I accept. Humanity will owe you a great debt."
Seriel shouted, "Shirone, what are you—!"
Shirone raised both hands and drew up the shimmering vapor of the Miracle Stream.
As a globe of gathered light slowly descended from the sky, Klein stared with his mouth agape.
He had never seen magic before.
"W-what is this—"
"I will absolve your sins." As the light of Agape flowed down over Klein's body, the incubation period of the Emotion Sickness was extended.
"You will not suffer from the Emotion Sickness going forward. This is my gift for your resolve. Will you still consent to the experiment? Even if you refuse, my decision won't change."
A fire lit in Klein's eyes. "I lost my wife and I killed my children. I want to atone. I will not waver."
Seriel softened, but Tenos still asked sternly, "Didn't you say you wouldn't use that ability on patients?"
"The standard is the same. The difference now is that Mr. Klein is no longer merely a patient here."
Rising, Shirone continued, "Like Seriel and Tenos, I'm someone who fights for humanity even at the cost of my life."
Tenos adjusted his glasses. The thought raced through him: The quickest way to stabilize the world—was this Yahweh's standard? For the first time in a while, his blood ran hot.
"Please, Seriel. Make that cure. At least find a way to lessen the pain."
Seriel pressed her lips shut and nodded.
'I'll do it. I must. The only right I have to breathe easily is to make that happen.'
That day, the World Health Organization formed a team that was not disclosed to the public.