"My question is, in the actual historical event, it wasn't as simple as choosing one of the three to die, was it? I believe there's a logic to everything, and this all took place inside a church. Though the statue is shattered, I noticed the holy emblem on its pedestal is still intact beneath a layer of dust. That has to be significant."
"You're right. The actual history was quite interesting."
Mr. Augustus admitted:
"To be specific, these three individuals appeared here at the sa ti by pure coincidence, all on the verge of death. The deity enshrined in this church took notice and decided to intervene. He selected the most wicked of the three to die, granting the other two a new lease on life."
"I see..."
Jenkins mused, turning to look at the three figures by the campfire. The crackling flas leaped and danced, casting shadows that blurred their faces into obscurity. He tried once more to discern the holy emblem on the statue's pedestal, but it remained maddeningly unclear.
"Well, if all I need is a sound reason..."
He disliked having the power of life and death over others; he usually only decided the fates of his sworn enemies. Jenkins knew he was no impartial saint, incapable of truly judging a person's wickedness, let alone identifying the most wicked among a group of villains.
But this situation wasn't real; it was rely a single-choice question looking back at history. Though he didn't know the proctor's intentions, he was still prepared to offer his answer:
"Then my choice is him."
He pointed to the old man, who was nearly fifty.
"Why? Because he killed his parents?"
inquired Mr. Augustus.
"That's only part of the reason. More importantly, he himself is ready to die. I have little respect for those who take their own lives, but he isn't suicidal; he's facing his end with composure. He doesn't fear death and believes it's what he deserves. Therefore, among three people who were fated to die anyway, letting him go seems the most reasonable choice... Of course, I also believe his deeds were the most wicked of the three."
"Is that all?"
Mr. Augustus pressed.
"Yes, that's all."
Jenkins nodded, confirming that he had nothing more to add.
Mr. Augustus slowly nodded in return, and together, they fell silent, watching the scene around the campfire.
The broken half of the statue, looming crookedly at the edge of the firelight, slowly faded from solid to ethereal. When the statue vanished completely, the holy emblem on its pedestal shone brightly in the firelight, as if the dust had been swept away.
A figure whose face was obscured, dressed in a black robe similar to the one Mr. Augustus wore, erged from the darkness behind where the statue had been. He was so completely enveloped by the robe that one might suspect it was empty, that the robe itself was moving on its own.
The mysterious figure stooped before each of the three in turn, as if questioning and listening. After a mont, he glided silently to the campfire and extended a hand toward the flas.
In reality, no hand erged from beneath the robe—only the fabric stretched outward, as if pushed from within.
The campfire died, plunging the area into darkness. But it lasted for less than a second before the flas flared back to life, illuminating the ruins of the church. The mysterious figure had vanished. The old man, nearly fifty, was no longer coughing. He was dead.
The middle-aged man, who had been stabbed through the chest, got to his feet. The wound was gone. He picked up his bloodstained coat from the ground, pulled a worn satchel from the rubble, and walked away in silence, into the darkness.
The young man who had lost both his legs stood up, whole once more. He dusted himself off, picked up the backpack he'd been using as a pillow, and pulled out sothing that looked like a loaf of dark bread. He placed it beside the body, then also strode into the shadows at the edge of the firelight and vanished.
"The sa choice?"
Jenkins waited until both n had vanished before he spoke.
"Yes, the sa choice."
Mr. Augustus replied:
"Our reasons differed, but our choice was the sa. However, this wasn't a question with a single correct answer, Jenkins. Your reasoning was sound, so this Mysterious Realm can now conclude."
"Does that an I can go back now?"
He knew it couldn't be that simple.
"No, please wait. A great being has bestowed a gift upon you."
As he spoke, Mr. Augustus pulled his hood back up, returning to the state he was in when he first appeared. His face vanished into the shadows of the cowl as he began to pray in a low voice.
The drowsy cat on his shoulder suddenly let out a cry, turning its head toward the holy emblem on the pedestal. Jenkins followed its gaze and saw that the emblem, its design still indecipherable, was now glowing faintly.
The mont his eyes locked onto it, a brilliant ray of golden light shot out from the center of the emblem. The light resolved into a miniature set of golden scales, which hovered steadily before Jenkins, bathing his face and Chocolate's fur in a warm, golden glow.
"This is..."
A part of his soul, the core of his divine essence, began to resonate faintly, causing his own body to emit a soft light. Jenkins understood at once what this was:
"A divine domain: Arbiter of Death!"
There was no joy on his face, only alarm. He recoiled as if he'd just seen a steam bomb about to detonate. He glanced around warily, sensing the faint, unnerving feeling of being watched from so impossibly far distance.
"Why?"
he demanded. From behind him, the hooded Mr. Augustus answered at once, but Jenkins couldn't be sure if it was truly him speaking:
"Your soul walks close to death. The power of lies you wield allows you to discern the false words of the dead. You et the requirents for this divine domain. Indeed, no one is more suitable. This Mysterious Realm was rely a small test to that effect."
The voice's cadence was strange, not at all like Mr. Augustus's usual manner of speaking. The style was exceptionally refined, but a slight tremor at the end of each sentence set Jenkins on edge.
"eting the requirents for this divine domain doesn't an it must belong to . Great One..."
He had a good idea of what was happening.
"Great One, to bestow such a weighty gift upon after this exquisite trial... I assu you require sothing of in return."
Jenkins only dared accept a gift if he knew the price.
"What you just witnessed was the reenactnt of an ancient tale. In that age, the god who held the domain of death conducted a fine judgnt within the scope of his duties. While any decision in that judgnt would have been correct, only one suited to this domain could follow their heart and provide a truly sound rationale. This divine domain is your due, God of Lies... But you are correct. The gift does indeed co with a price."
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