Chapter Fifty-Six: Sea of Blood

On the stage of the “Pilgrimage Assembly,” a sudden silence fell. The microphone had abruptly lost its sound. Shuuji Yamada frowned, tapped the microphone, and called out a few times, but received no response. With graceful composure, he shook his head and set the microphone aside. Yet, as he turned, he flashed a signal to the side of the stage. The prepared staff, sweating nervously, rushed forward and handed him a new microphone.

Taking the new microphone, Shuuji Yamada smiled benevolently and spoke, “Ah, a little accident just now, but there’s no need—”

What was going on? Why was there still no sound from the microphone?

He cast an irritated glance toward the side of the stage. A third microphone was swiftly replaced, then a fourth, a fifth… The current had not been cut, yet silence prevailed.

Shuuji Yamada squinted his eyes tightly, his staff trembling and nearly falling to their knees in terror, knowing well his temperament and methods. Glancing at the audience below, he saw that the congregation seated on their cushions was already glancing about anxiously, growing restless.

Though the initial tactics had gathered the fervor of the assembly, immersing everyone wholly in the ritual of the “Pilgrimage Assembly,” there was a double edge: once the religious atmosphere was broken, it would be difficult to restore.

Outwardly calm, inwardly he cursed:

“…Damn!

“…Is the stage equipment so shoddy because the technicians took a kickback? When tonight is over, I’ll have to deal with them properly!”

Just as he considered abandoning the stage and ending the “Pilgrimage Assembly,” suddenly—the lights went out.

No, not entirely; most of the venue was plunged into darkness, but the stage lights remained, illuminating Shuuji Yamada alone. The hall was shrouded in shadow, leaving him bathed in light—the exact opposite of the previous stage lighting design.

Behind him, the statue of the Blissful King wore an expression of deep contemplation, gazing solemnly at the crowd.

The congregation gasped, believing this was a deliberate design by Shuuji Yamada. They became serious once more, focusing intently on his position.

But Yamada himself was at a loss, knowing this was not part of his plan. Yet the moment pressed him forward; clearing his throat, he gripped the voiceless microphone, hesitating—

What should he do next?

“You’re wondering… why the microphone has no sound, aren’t you?”

A gentle voice rose from behind, making Shuuji Yamada’s eyes widen in disbelief. His hair stood on end as he turned to look at a girl standing at the rear of the stage. The shock of her beauty and the chill of her sudden appearance entwined within him, prompting him to cry out:

“Who are you?!”

Unbeknownst to him, not only he, but in that moment, as the girl’s figure appeared on stage—

At the very back, among the robed stewards, the registrar also stared dumbfounded at the girl, mouth agape.

“Miss Mio Ito?!”

Apart from the registrar who knew her name, all others in the audience—congregants and stewards alike—began whispering in confusion upon seeing Mio Ito. It was clear to them that she was not a planned member of Shuuji Yamada’s assembly, and so her presence only deepened their bewilderment.

While the audience buzzed, only two people stood upon the stage. Though Shuuji Yamada was momentarily stunned by her beauty, his shock quickly gave way to practical consideration.

“…Was all of this your doing?”

Though phrased as a question, he was certain of the answer.

The girl did not reply.

She stepped lightly to the center of the stage.

“Just now, your figure suddenly appeared with the lighting. It was a trick, wasn’t it?” Shuuji Yamada’s voice grew dark.

“That was divine power bestowed by the King… Hey, you haven’t answered my question.”

He spoke disdainfully, casting another covert glance at the stage’s side, but to his surprise, the staff and security stood motionless, as if entranced, staring blankly.

He sensed something was amiss, though he could not say what. Cold sweat trickled down his spine.

“So it is as I thought…”

The girl spoke to herself, standing at the stage’s center, lightly kicking at a barely perceptible seam.

“Beneath this central seam of the stage lies a five or six meter long shaft, doesn’t it? The seam can be opened and closed by electromagnetic remote control. When opened, it allows the ‘object’ below to rise or fall through the shaft.

“And that object is another painting, identical in length and width to the King’s statue behind you.

“So… at first, there were actually two paintings hanging on the stage: one at the back, and one here. You hid between them, waiting for the lights to go out.

“When the stage lights were extinguished and darkness fell, you secretly spoke, broadcasting your voice through the speakers, making it impossible to discern where it came from.

“Then, in the instant when light returned, the painting suspended above the shaft dropped rapidly as the seam was opened. Your figure, wedged between the two paintings, was revealed. Yet, with the King’s painting still behind you and the stage’s depth deliberately extended, it seemed as if you had appeared suddenly upon the stage…

“How dull… I thought perhaps a religion this grand might have some genuine divinity behind the scenes, but it’s nothing more than a tedious mechanical trick.”

Mio Ito tilted her head, regarding him with an expression of boredom and indifference, speaking words that made little sense.

Shuuji Yamada neither affirmed nor denied, his face still dark, repeating his question.

“Who… are you?”

“Who am I?”

The girl smiled, mimicking his posture, stepping to the very front of the stage. As if proclaiming, she gazed directly at the council of elders, the notables, the thousands of believers, stewards, and guards below, meeting their confused, awed, or uneasy stares. She spread her arms wide. Without a microphone, her voice was still clear, reaching every corner of the hall:

“Human beings are such fragile creatures, aren’t they? They need support, they need faith, always searching for reasons—so much so that even this dull trickery can deceive them, making them believe someone truly possesses divine power, that someone will bring salvation.

“The so-called ‘Blissful King Assembly’ is nothing more than that… Pierce through the thin veil, and you’ll see the ugliness and shallowness behind it.

“…But there’s no need to worry, everyone.

“Salvation does exist, but it has nothing to do with the Blissful King. It exists within my hands—

“—Next, you shall witness true divine power in this world!”

With her words, a sound like the roar of the tide or the rumbling of a colossal beast echoed in everyone’s ears. As they looked at one another, anxious and bewildered, a sea of blood surged through the sacred hall. Scarlet tentacles rose from that ocean, drawing all into a crimson world.