Surviving without God Chapter 44

Gunther walked slowly.

Tap—

His view was blocked. The sound of footsteps on an unfamiliar tal floor rang in his ears. The mont he arrived at the rendezvous point, a sack was pulled over his head without a single explanation, and he was dragged sowhere. Two hours had already passed since then. All around him he heard heavy breathing and an endless stream of curses.

“Huff, huff...”

“...Damn it, there’s no air.”

“Hey! For fuck’s sake, can you hear ?!”

More than half the people were twisting their heads, trying to glimpse anything from under the sacks, or dragging their feet to slow the pace. Many tried to look brave and lifted their chins, but the tips of their fingers or their feet trembled in tiny shakes.

But one person was the exception.

Gunther.

There wasn’t a drop of tension or hesitation in him. Even though he was being led sowhere unknown, every step he took was precise and calm.

“Gunther. I think soone’s watching us. I can feel that stare!”

“...Well, of course they’re watching.”

“Oh? Yeah, you’re right. Well then—welco, please enjoy the show!”

He contrasted sharply with the person fussing beside him. At the sight of that composure, a faint smile played on Moon Wolf’s lips. Behind the mask, her crimson eyes did not leave Gunther for even a second.

“Hm.”

And that unusual sight—when the unsociable acting leader showed interest only in one specific candidate—did not escape the escort known as the “Devouring Serpent.”

Rustle—

Jedriel smiled aningfully and slipped closer to Gunther without a sound. Moon Wolf’s gaze turned icy, but he didn’t care. The scolding could co later. Right now, he was dying of curiosity about this rookie.

“Hey, kiddo~.”

Poke—he jabbed him in the side. An ordinary person would have jumped, yelped, or flinched. But the only response was a calm:

“Yes.”

“I like him.”

“Your breathing’s unusually steady.”

“...What?”

“Most people force themselves to breathe deep to stop the shaking. But you... you’re acting so naturally, like you just stepped out for a walk in front of your house.”

“...?”

“Oops, am I talking too much for a first eting?”

Despite the innocent tone, his voice was dull and hoarse. It didn’t sound natural—each sound seed crushed and cracked, as if it were being forced out. Gunther involuntarily recalled a character description: an assassin whose vocal cords had been damaged by torture at a young age.

“Is this really our first eting?”

“Huh?”

“...You’re that senior who was sitting on the ceiling in ‘Haven,’ aren’t you?”

A brief silence fell. Then ca a chuckle.

“...How did you know?”

Gunther answered the first thing that ca to mind.

“By your breathing.”

And that offhand answer produced an unexpected result.

Ding!

“Wha-a... you’re sothing else, kid. You really are not simple.”

[Connection with Jedriel is unlocked]

“Now I get how you chard that block of wood!”

Jedriel patted him on the shoulder in friendly fashion. Gunther couldn’t see anything, but he bowed politely in that direction. Laughter sounded again, and Jedriel kept talking.

“I like you. I really like you. You’re suspiciously calm. You know everyone else around you is basically frozen solid?”

Only then did Gunther realize the noise of footsteps around him had abruptly died down.

“My comrades... where did they go?”

“Khe-khe, what, you scared I sold them off?”

After laughing at his unfunny joke, Jedriel spoke seriously again.

“The initiation ceremony is at dawn. Until then, everyone will spend the ti alone in a separate cell. Gotta put your thoughts in order, right?”

“Put my thoughts in order...?”

“Yeah. Because the mont you join our ranks, there’s no going back.”

...In the ga’s main story, there was no detail like this. But considering the nature of a secret organization, the procedure felt perfectly logical.

“All right, you go in this room. Big guy, you’re in the one next door.”

A hand gently pushed him in the back. A heavy clang followed—the iron door closing. At so point, the knot on the sack ca loose.

“Think it over carefully. You can still take your words back while there’s ti. It’d be a sha, sure, but I’ll let you go nicely~.”

The playful voice quickly faded away. Gunther blinked and looked around.

***

“...Put my thoughts in order, huh.”

In truth, for Gunther—who had already decided long ago—it was unnecessary. Still, rembering the last insane days, the forced rest even felt pleasant. He exhaled and sat down on the bed.

“...”

The room was cramped. In the dim lamp light, there was only the bed he sat on and a small table. Surprisingly, there was a bottle of liquor and a glass on the table.

“...And it’s expensive stuff.”

Apparently, a small courtesy for candidates who had to kill ti until dawn under tension. Still, it was too early to touch it. ...Gunther’s attention caught on sothing else.

The desk drawer was half-open. Inside lay an old notebook.

“What’s this?”

Without much thought, Gunther picked it up. The leather cover slled of dust, and a stern title was stamped on it:

.

“Hm, so they even have this.”

Maybe this was how they decided to familiarize candidates with the division they would end up in. Sure enough, reality was far more detailed than the ga. With interest, Gunther began to slowly scan the lines.

“Executive Division Overview”

The Executive Division is a special rapid-response unit of “Night Raven.” Its tasks fall into two main directions.

First: participation in missions the leadership has deed “high-risk.” Examples include preventing large-scale sacrifice rites or summoning rituals, assassinating high-ranking priests, seizing forbidden books, and confiscating dangerous relics.

Second: deploynt at the request of other divisions when they have reached a dead end. We take on missions that resolve stalemate situations through close ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) coordination.

...Therefore, the Executive Division’s deploynt always ans crisis. To be the first to break through the darkness no one wants to enter. That is our duty.

“Wow.”

Gunther was quietly impressed. A powerful pride seeped through these lines. The text warned of danger, yet for those who gathered here intent on crushing Luthien, it only poured oil on the fire.

“This notebook is a tool to raise morale before the ceremony.”

Even for him—who already knew everything about this unit—sothing solemn stirred in his chest. Gunther turned the page.

“...?”

Contrary to expectation, there were no lofty speeches, no inspiring slogans. Only scattered, short, incomprehensible phrases. Gunther frowned slightly and ran his eyes line by line.

— Duty fulfilled, leave begins.

— They said this ti the job would be easy. Lies.

— Brothers, fight to the end!

— Gear goes to the juniors, debts go to the commander.

— Clean your sword more often. Blood dries fast.

Gunther tilted his head.

“This is...”

— Now soone else will write the reports.

— Hm. Bad feeling.

— Ellen, Dad is coming.

— That wasn’t the fla worth throwing away what life I had left.

— Glory to the 4th platoon.

Gunther realized these were wills left behind by predecessors of the Executive Division. There were no nas beneath the words—only the intake number and a codena.

Rustle—

As if bewitched, Gunther turned the last page. Only one question remained, left for reflection:

“Why did you choose this path?”

And beneath it, as if inviting an answer, lay a clean sheet of white paper and a quill.

“...Hmph.”

In that mont, Gunther felt a strange sense of alienness. And soon he understood why.

He was a transmigrator.

He didn’t have so grand grudge against Luthien. He hadn’t lost his family, his holand, his friends. Yes, in the first chapter a paladin had killed him brutally, but he had already taken revenge for that. So his feelings toward Luthien couldn’t be the sa as theirs. It wasn’t a scorching hatred—more like the revulsion of an outside observer.

Even though the goal “Overthrow Luthien” hadn’t changed... he once again realized that, in the end, he could not fight for the sa reasons as everyone around him, and those he would still have to face.

Tap—

...The very thought of writing sothing against the backdrop of those ssages felt like tasteless mockery, so Gunther set the notebook aside without writing anything. And at that mont—

“Gunther.”

A familiar voice called to him through the thin wall.

.

.

.

“Kha! This booze is good!”

Ryan’s cheerful voice bood on the other side of the wall. You could almost start worrying whether he’d wake people in other rooms. The guy was draining glasses fast, and every ti, he shouted toasts with glee.

“To us!”

“One more!”

“All right, one more ti—to us!”

“How long’s it been since I drank, huh?”

I silently poured myself another and raised the glass to my lips. But even as the heat of alcohol slid down my throat, the unpleasant sedint in my chest wouldn’t go away.

“Thanks, Gunther.”

“...For what now.”

“For what? For everything.”

He must’ve gotten drunk, because he repeated the sa thing several tis. Then he fell silent. Only rare sounds remained—the glass emptying, then being filled again. In the dark room, I started getting tipsy too. If Ryan hadn’t suddenly broken the silence, I probably would’ve slipped into sleep. The exhaustion from yesterday was enormous.

“By the way, what’d you write in there?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Well... I’m sure you wrote sothing cool.”

“And you?”

Silence again. It was rare for my conversation with Ryan to break off when we were alone. This ti, the pause dragged on even longer. For a mont I even forgot Ryan was behind the wall. Then, very quietly, his voice reached :

“Everyone died.”

“...”

“My dad, my mom, my little sister.”

I lifted my glass.

“They say they poured molten lead and boiling oil on their heads. I didn’t see it myself. I ran as hard as I could—I was only nine years old, for fuck’s sake.”

“...”

“I found out later. Much later.”

[He lost his family at a young age because of the Luthien Theocracy]

That was what Ryan’s character card said. I poured another drink. Ryan gave a crooked smile.

“Khe-khe. I like that you don’t try to squeeze out words of sympathy. Maybe that’s why won like you so much?”

“No, it’s because of my face.”

“...You little bastard.”

It was good we were talking through a wall. Seeing the crying face of a 195-centiter giant would’ve been beyond , even with the endurance I’d trained these last three years. Sothing like a sigh ca through.

“You know, Gunther.”

“Talk.”

“I still... couldn’t even let myself hate those bastards with my whole strength.”

“Why.”

“Because hatred and revenge are blood brothers.”

I turned those words over.

“If you hate, you have to take revenge. And I chose a coward’s life. Like, I was little, I don’t rember anything~. Like I’m the only orphan in this harsh world~. That kind of shit.”

“...”

“So I can’t not be grateful to you. Thanks, Gunther.”

“...Fine.”

“Thanks for this chance. For giving a way to live right. I an it.”

Ryan kept talking.

“...You’ve probably got reasons too—ones you can’t tell anyone. You’re a guy with a lot of secrets.”

I didn’t deny it.

“But if you ever need my help—say the word. I’ll risk my life to help you.”

I know those aren’t empty words. The deaths Ryan doesn’t rember were proof enough. Tap—I looked at the empty bottle.

“...We drank it all.”

“Yeah? Mine’s empty too.”

I stood up. A rustle ca from the other side as well.

“Then let’s go.”

“Let’s go.”

Step, step—

At the end of the corridor, heavy footsteps cut through the silence. The initiation ceremony began.

.

.

.

Ding!

[Connection has been updated]

— Connection with Ryan Parker has reached 99. To reach level 100, you must complete this partner’s side scenario. Complete “Side Scenario — Tribunal of That Day.”

[Interaction effect with partner has reached its limit]

When fighting together with Ryan Parker, the following effect is constantly applied:

Echo of Giant Blood: with a certain chance, attacks are granted the effect “Stun.”

※ Upon reaching connection level 100, additional bonuses and a special reward will be granted.