Chapter 4: The Gods’ Plan (4)
Rsanda, who had been sighing repeatedly, spoke quietly, as if convincing herself rather than Karasvati. “My policy so far has been to let Hashana do what she wants as much as possible.”
“You know, I’ve noticed that parents who spoil their kids raise them that way. That’s why the imperial family is such a mess.”
Rsanda remained silent, her lips thinning.
“As I see it, the imperial family, who have been whoring around for generations, and Hashana, who hasn’t practiced for her coming-of-age night even once, are both just poorly raised kids. Do you think I would have prioritized looks and bedroom skills as the selection criteria for the delegation if I didn’t feel so sorry for her?” Karasvati propped her chin on her hand, sneering, and asked her agonizing friend. “Anyway, what about your policy? Are you going to accept all of Hashana’s whims just because she’s your child?”
“The opposite. I’m using this opportunity to teach her that the saintess of war shouldn’t yearn for soft things like poetry, songs, and paintings.”
Karasvati let out a long hum, her eyes rolling as she considered something. “Rsanda, you’ve become more and more unfamiliar since you created the saintess.”
“…What’s so unfamiliar?”
“You can be lazier than a sick cow, more debauched than a mare in heat, and more planless than a hibernating bear. But when you brilliantly sense the stirrings of war, you get excited with a foolish lack of foresight. That’s the you I know. That’s my friend, Rsanda, the goddess of war,” Karasvati continued, “I’d like my friend to stay that kind of thoughtless, multiple-personality idiot, but you keep saying things like a thoughtful mother, and it’s giving me the creeps.”
Rsanda glared at Karasvati, who was shuddering and rubbing her arms. This one… judging by her actions and the words she’s casually spitting out, she’s definitely plotting some kind of nasty prank.
Just as Rsanda got excited about war, Karasvati responded to new artistic material. Knowing better than anyone how her preferred creative tastes leaned toward amoral tragedies, Rsanda’s worries deepened.
It seems things are heading in a strange, wrong direction. The more they talked, the more the anxiety in Rsanda’s heart snowballed.
Karasvati, who had been observing Rsanda’s anguish with her chin propped on her hand, placated her friend in a considerably cheerful voice, “It’s unsettling and creepy for me to hear… but well, I agree it’s not a bad decision. Hashana has lived for about twenty years; it’s about time she realized the truth that nine out of ten of those who dabble in the arts are trash.”
“…That’s not something the goddess of art should be saying, is it?”
“Because I am the goddess of art, I judge my apostles all the more coldly. Just like you, who judged this to be the perfect opportunity to train Hashana and called me here.”
As if displeased at being read so clearly, Rsanda downed the strong liquor in one go. Watching her old friend fidget uncharacteristically, Karasvati refilled her empty glass and asked casually, “My dear friend. What would you have me do for Hashana?”
“Our Hashana is very smart and kind, but… she’s too soft.”
“You can’t complain about that, since she takes after you, her creator.”
“It’s a bit different from my nature of being soft. Hashana can’t distinguish between caring for something and loving it.”
“That’s a big problem. It’s a master’s duty to take good care of those under them, but there’s no need to love everything they care for.”
Rsanda nodded. The act of carefully tending to something lovely and the act of loving the subject of one’s care were very different. Compared to the great gods, humans were so small, weak, and insignificant. Hashana simply refused to accept that natural order, no matter how many times Rsanda had told her that the saintess, who stood between gods and humans, had no obligation to love all those insignificant beings.
It’s enough to protect the humans from starving. What reason is there to provide them with emotional stability and quality cultural resources? Recalling the subject she had been arguing with Hashana about recently, a long, deep sigh escaped Rsanda’s lips.
Karasvati, who had been approaching this half in amusement, suddenly frowned. “Oh, my goodness. Is that really Hashana’s argument, not just your worry? Really?”
“I’m telling you, it is.”
“Wow… this is crazy. The reason Hashana asked me for a delegation is because she’s lost in such nonsense? Because she feels sorry for her beloved people living like charmless soldiers, trapped in this prison-like fortress city?”
Rsanda affirmed Karasvati’s words with an even deeper sigh. Shaking her head, Karasvati tapped her chest as if frustrated and drained her glass.
“Even as a saintess, it’s impossible for Hashana to make every human’s life happy! You taught her countless charmless subjects like military science and agriculture, so why didn’t you teach her that truth?”
“It’s not that I didn’t teach her; it’s that she didn’t listen,” Rsanda replied.
“I’m just asking, just in case… Hashana does know that we gods have no obligation to protect humans, right?”
At Karasvati’s question, Rsanda subtly averted her gaze. “Well… I taught her that protecting those under one’s command to maintain their minds and bodies in the best possible condition is also a basic quality of a great commander…”
“Ugh. You’re really something else. You taught your own kid a principle you’ve never been able to practice your whole life?” Karasvati sighed briefly, glaring at her friend as if she were fed up. It was the gods’ role to shape things to their satisfaction—art for the goddess ofart, war for the goddess of war, chaos for the goddess of chaos. Granting wishes or protecting the lives within their domain was not a god’s duty, but merely a pastime.
Of course, a god’s power is influenced by how fervently humans worship them… but fundamentally, to the gods, humans are not subjects of protection. Annoyance and pity flooded Karasvati’s eyes. “You reap what you sow! You taught her to keep things that are no more than decorations or weeds—to be swept away whenever they become an eyesore—in ‘the best possible condition,’ so of course Hashana is pinning her hopes on something like a cultural delegation!”
Rsanda accepted her friend’s criticism with a look of resignation. “Regardless of whether I practice it or not, I truly believe that. It’s the commander’s role to protect and defend those they are responsible for. War isn’t fought by the leader alone.”
“You do realize that what you meant by ‘protection’ and what Hashana understood are completely different, right?”
“That’s why I’m trying to provide Hashana with the experience of making mistakes and failing. In war, the ideals you hold and the process you go through are more important than winning or losing… it will be an opportunity for her to realize that. The experience of admitting one’s own mistakes and failures is also essential for a commander.”
“Ha. How kind of you, for a goddess of war.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. Are you going to help me or not?”
“Why wouldn’t I help with something this amusing, my friend? I’ll make sure it’s remembered in songs and plays for a long, long time.”
The two goddesses toasted without a word, clinking their glasses, and then, as if by agreement, leaned far over to look down below the balcony. From the distant fortress below, barely visible to the human eye, Hashana’s faint voice could be heard as she inspected the guards’ barracks.
“Hashana is so cute, being so needlessly diligent. Just watching her like this won’t be boring.”
Rsanda said nothing, her expression grim.
“Maybe I should make a saintess of my own. I’m getting tired of rolling around with well-built men. The art in fashion at the capital has no fresh taste. I was thinking of passing the time by seducing the prettiest human I’ve seen, slowly savoring him, and watching his life get ruined… but that’s not going as planned either.”
At those words, Rsanda shot up and stared fiercely at her. Karasvati blinked innocently, as if to say, what’s wrong? Rsanda, who had already been suspicious of Karasvati offering to help without any conditions, showed her anxiety and warned her firmly.
“Take it easy. You know how delicately I raised Hashana, right?”
“I know, I know.” Karasvati’s voice was laced with mock sympathy. “Who else but me could understand your deep-seated reasons for staying cooped up in this drab, purely practical fortress? All because you don’t want your precious, treasured creation to suffer.”
Rsanda frowned. It was true, but her tone was always so grating. Rsanda, who was good at fighting but could never win against Karasvati in an argument, suppressed her strange sense of vexation and just drank. Karasvati, thoroughly excited to have found such a good source of entertainment, patted her friend’s shoulder as if she were about to start humming.
“As you, the goddess of war, would know better than anyone… a fine sword is only forged after being heated by fire, beaten by a hammer, and ground on a whetstone. It’s up to Hashana to endure whatever I use to strike her with, so you just sit back and watch.”
“Haah…”
Rsanda kept sighing with a look of distrust as she emptied her glass. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Hashana, but she was anxious about the madness of Karasvati, who would risk everything for fun.
Right. As she said, that too is something Hashana must overcome. I hope she fails with as little shock as possible and recovers quickly.
Rsanda’s wish and Karasvati’s anticipation were carried on the sea breeze and rose to the distant sky.
