"Another loaf, please."
"Coming right up."
Thinking didn't slow him down — he finished the first one and wanted a second.
Since the big idiot had been eating here morning and evening for a year, the owner refilled his hot water for free while fetching the bread.
Halfway through the second loaf, Ryan suddenly registered something: he hadn't found the food off-putting. Was that because he was in a different body? Or too early to tell after just one meal?
No study abroad experience to draw on, so he filed the question away and finished the rest.
He waved farewell to the owner on the way out. He was reasonably satisfied, though not full — but he wasn't planning to do any physical labor, so he didn't bother with a third.
Nowadays, labor meant survival wages and nothing more. It wasn't a symbol of dignity; it was a symbol of having no better option. Only those with no other path spent their time on work with no visible future. Both worlds were the same on that front.
Which meant this world's gods didn't love people quite as much as they claimed. Indifference, or inability? And what had they built the churches for — faith? What did belief actually give a god?
There was also something strange about the political structure. With divine power backing them, the churches could easily run a theocracy — it would have been completely feasible. And yet all four major powers on the Northern Continent had kings and royal families. Not just nominally — they held real authority.
Unlike the Pope, who could hold the position for centuries.
The churches clearly influenced national leadership, but they didn't hold power directly. It seemed redundant. The royal families didn't appear to have any divine backing of their own, so a clash between royal and divine authority seemed off the table. Was it an act of goodwill? Or deliberate — to keep the churches from becoming bureaucratic?
Though if no conflict existed between the two, there was another possibility: a division of labor. Churches handled the supernatural; royalty managed secular affairs. That made sense on the surface, but then the churches' stringent control over supernatural power needed a more compelling explanation than simply "maintaining order." There was a deliberate effort to keep the supernatural out of the awareness of most people, and he couldn't figure out why.
Unless knowing about the supernatural somehow raised the chances of some great malevolent entity's revival.
He made a note to pay attention to the relationship between the royal families and the churches — to see whether any of his guesses held up.
This is more interesting than figuring out how to make money.
So without hesitation, Ryan changed direction and headed for the city center library.
Building churches, spreading faith, keeping order, running charitable institutions — but not consolidating power for themselves in the process. The gods, by all appearances, wanted something that power and wealth couldn't simply purchase. Because in a world with supernatural force, divine power was the ultimate expression of power and wealth.
But what, concretely, did faith give the gods?
As a reader of web fiction, he could think of several possibilities — none of which he could immediately verify. The big idiot's memories did offer one other lead, though.
In the Republic of Intis to the west of the Ruen Kingdom, one of the two great faiths — the God of Steam and Machinery — had issued a divine decree during Rosselle the Great's reign, changing its own name from the former "God of Craftsmen." The decree was said to be closely connected to something Rosselle had done, and it remained one of the most-discussed aspects of his legacy.
Unfortunately, the big idiot remembered this only because the decree itself had been so stunning. What Rosselle had actually done to prompt it was nowhere in his memory.
Picking through carefully, Ryan pieced together what the big idiot did retain: Rosselle had invented many things, left behind many famous sayings, overthrown the Intisian Kingdom, established the Republic of Intis, and served as its first Consul. He later declared himself "Caesar the Great," converted the republic into an empire, and died in old age from an assassination.
Everything else was fairly unremarkable — but "Caesar the Great" gave Ryan a jolt. His history wasn't thorough, but he knew who Caesar was. Different language, similar circumstances and sound. This was no coincidence.
And if it wasn't, then his own transmigration was beginning to feel quietly alarming.
One transmigrator might be written off as random misfortune. Two — or more — were a pattern. Calling it chance at that point was self-deception.
"I knew books were useful, but this useful?" He frowned and held back a sharp intake of breath. The implication was genuinely unsettling.
But rattled as he was, he couldn't pretend he hadn't seen it. Better to understand it clearly than remain in comfortable ignorance.
He quickened his pace toward the library.
His current appearance was, admittedly, not ideal for a library visit. Library-goers tended toward the middle class at minimum — neat and presentable, if not extravagant. In his current clothes, he'd draw attention.
But Ryan hadn't been about to buy an outfit just for a library trip, and now he had even less interest in that. As for the mockery or obstruction that might follow — so long as you were shameless enough and in the right, what could anyone actually do? He'd never been afraid of an argument, and right now he didn't even need to worry about someone losing their temper and swinging at him.
He genuinely doubted that in a world where the churches encouraged learning, anyone would dare post a "No Entry for the Poor" sign on a public library door. This was a capitalist world, yes — but it was also a world where supernatural power existed, and where divine authority outranked everything, including capital. His behavior wouldn't risk violating some unspoken rule and causing a scene.
He wasn't looking for trouble. What he had was simply respect for the institution — a structure that had stood on this earth for at least 1,352 years. For anyone here, it was ordinary. For him, "miracle" wasn't too strong a word. But that respect didn't mean he would be cowed. As long as exposing himself as an Extraordinary wasn't a risk, he'd rather step into things and see what happened. Watch the spectacle.
And even if he'd read the situation wrong, the fix was simple: back down before it escalated. He wouldn't find that humiliating. He'd just conclude that this country and its churches had nothing worth respecting beyond raw force.
Author's Note (this chapter):Unless knowing about the supernatural somehow raised the chances of some great malevolent entity's revival.