Today was a day of rest. A day when people could listen to divine lectures, bathe, rest, or even sleep in eternal peace. They could do anything they wanted on this day.
In front of the Grand Sacrifice Cathedral, the followers of the Church of Sacrifice stood solemnly. At the entrance, two large red boxes were placed, and all it took to enter and listen to the lecture from their god was to drop a single silver coin. This was the entry fee, the ticket.
And if the divine lecture moved you, you could express your gratitude by dropping even more silver coins from your seat in the hall. After that, if you felt inclined to join the faith, you could immediately be baptized and become a devoted follower, draped in a crimson robe.
However, after an hour of waiting, not a single person had come to donate, and not a single ticket had been sold. The followers weren't too concerned, though. It was only 6 AM, and perhaps not many people were awake yet.
Two hours later, by 8 AM, the city began to bustle. Shops opened one after another, and many factories would be closed today because it was a designated day of rest—a day for the machines to rest.
According to the teachings of the Steel Church, if the spirits of machines were displeased, they would go on strike. If people were displeased, they too would strike. So, in order to please both man and machine, a weekly rest day was mandatory.
The streets were filled with all kinds of people. Yet, despite the increasing activity in the city, the area in front of the Sacrifice Cathedral remained deserted.
The steady stream of people bustling past was separated from the crimson cathedral by nothing but an open door.
And yet, it was as if they existed in two completely different worlds. The passersby continued their conversations, but none of their discussions involved neither Church of Sacrifice nor the God. Instead, a new topic dominated their chatter—something called arcade games.
It was reminiscent of how, in the history of Earth, even the most primitive video games captivated countless people, with many hailing them as a sign of cultural progress.
Living beings always need a sanctuary for their spirit.
But once games became their sanctuary, they no longer needed gods.
"Games aren't just a source of joy. The negative emotions they evoke can be just as intense—like when you're stuck at a certain level, unable to progress no matter what you do."
"And yet, even through all that soul-crushing frustration, people still love playing them. That's just human nature. It's not masochism—it's the thrill of a challenge. That's how life works—by constantly facing challenges, people undergo transformation over time."
At least, that's what a certain unnamed God of Fiction said.
"Hurry, hurry, hurry! I've been waiting all day for this."
The black iron dwarf who had appeared in the tavern before rushed past the cathedral. He puffed his beard and glared fiercely as he ran at breakneck speed, his path unwavering and direct.
Soon, a large crowd gathered behind him. When they saw the dwarf sprinting ahead, some began jeering:
"With those short legs of yours, you sure can run fast. But with skills like yours, you'll get kicked off the machine in no time."
"Don't tell me you're entering the competition too? Seriously? With your skill level? Ha-ha-ha."
The black iron dwarf turned his head, his beard practically igniting with rage. He glared at the jeering crowd, shouting back:
"You can't even outrun my short legs. Your combined height may reach the sky, but it's useless. Why not head to the hospital for an amputation? You'd be doing society a favor."
"You little—!"
The noisy crowd filled the streets, waking the entire city.
Today, there was no steam—only sunshine.
The Church of Sacrifice's clergy noticed the large crowd rushing their way and were instantly overjoyed. They hurried to welcome them.
"The church is right here. Right here! Today, the Sacrifice God will descend to deliver a divine lecture. Don't miss the location."
With wide smiles, the priests enthusiastically directed the crowd towards the cathedral.
But the crowd, seeing the priests, veered away as though the street itself had bent like a river. The priests' smiles froze on their faces, baffled, until mocking voices rang out from the running crowd:
"Church of Sacrifice? Never heard of it. Don't get in touch with us again; we wouldn't want the Church of Fiction to misunderstand."
The priests panicked, quickly grabbing a few people:
"Wait! It's the rest day. Don't you want to hear the words of a god? Didn't you see all the advertisements plastered across the city yesterday? Don't you want to change your life?"
The people they grabbed immediately looked frustrated, shaking off the priests' arms and cursing as they ran:
"You just wasted several precious seconds of my life."
The priests stood dumbfounded, watching as the crowd disappeared into the distance. And in the distance, even more people were heading in the same direction, yet they all made sure to avoid the church.
One of the high priests, nearly frantic, shouted at the retreating figures, trying desperately to call them back:
"Today is the day that the God of Sacrifice delivers his lecture. As one of the gods who rules this world, don't you feel any inclination to worship him? Perhaps you were stuck working in the factory yesterday and missed the announcements?"
What could be more important than hearing the words of a god?
"God, my foot! If I'm late grabbing an account, I'll come back and tear down your cathedral."
A voice from somewhere in the crowd utterly shattered the high priest's composure.
"It seems these people either have no respect for the gods, or they outright reject the God of Sacrifice. I pity them. To leave the chance to gain such power from the gods themselves."
"What's this God of Fiction anyway? He's just a newcomer. He's only recently begun spreading his faith in this world. How could such a new god possibly offer his followers anything of real substance? The God of Sacrifice was here first."
Every follower thought the same.
Some had even visited that so-called church's event—it was nothing more than a tavern run by outsiders from the Earth. How could that be considered a proper church?
Could it be that this God of Fiction came from the Earth?
But clearly, God of Sacrifice was first here in the Gray World.
"But many of the city's inhabitants are shallow followers of the Sacrifice High Priest. We spent an entire day promoting this event. Surely those who heard about the lecture and have even a sliver of belief will come. There's no need to worry."
Though the priests tried to console each other with words of patience, their foreheads were already sweating. Then, they spotted someone familiar—Mr. Litt, the director of the printing company, sitting in his black steam car, rumbling towards them, making quite a commotion.
"Ah, Mr. Litt! Have you come to hear—"
"Apologies, I'm in a hurry to get to the Church of Fiction. I won't be able to attend today." Mr. Litt waved politely from his car as it zoomed past, leaving behind a trail of steam and a spray of water droplets along the street.