**Chapter 709: Increase in Time**
Above the vast desert of Busairite, the blazing sun shines down on the desolate expanse. In this endless wasteland, numerous groups of figures can be seen moving slowly—not migrating desert animals, but rather, a procession of fleeing refugees.
Under the scorching sun and swirling sands, countless refugee groups are scattered across the wide plains. Clad in tattered robes, they step forward with heavy feet, trudging along with weary movements and pained expressions. Some groups even include individuals who cannot move at all, being dragged along by ropes and wooden boards. Each group is utterly exhausted yet continues to push forward, all aiming for the same destination.
These refugees, hailing from various corners of Busairite, have embarked on a journey in search of a land they believe to be their redemption. They cling to the hope that in the oasis of Bastis, a Savior awaits to rescue them.
By the expansive oasis of Bastis, the church’s camp, which was once modest in size, has now multiplied in scale, overflowing into the surrounding desert with tightly packed tents. Due to the recent influx of massive refugee populations, the camp has expanded beyond its limits; the original supply of tents has long since run out, and makeshift tents are quickly depleting materials. The newcomers can now only lay down straw mats to sleep on the ground.
Amidst this sprawling camp, the sight of refugees rolling on the ground is common, their various wails filling the air. Wearing protective gear, the camp guards patrol to maintain basic order, while healing nuns treat the severely ill who are barely holding on. At present, although the camp is large and filled with countless patients and refugees, order is being maintained. However, how long this can last with more refugees pouring in is anyone’s guess.
“Thank you… Thank you, Sister Vania…”
“I can’t express my gratitude enough!”
“Your generous help is greatly appreciated, Sister Vania…”
At a food distribution point in the camp, a group of refugees is gathered to receive relief food. Upon seeing the young girl in white nun robes passing by, they collectively turn and join their hands in gratitude. After one person thanks her, more follow suit, with some elderly individuals even kneeling on the ground.
Amidst the numerous expressions of gratitude, Vania remains calm, smiling as she helps those kneeling back to their feet and advises them gently, “Please rise, everyone. You do not need to thank me. It is my mission to come here to help all those in need. If there is any gratitude to be had, it should be directed towards our merciful and great Lord…”
Responding with phrases typical of church work, Vania leads her entourage as they inspect the various conditions throughout the camp. At every stop, the refugees rise to express their thanks, and Vania responds gently while personally distributing some supplies, healing a few wounds along the way.
After completing her rounds, Vania reaches a small hill at the edge of the camp. Looking at the sprawling expanse of tents and the bustling people, she frowns slightly and murmurs, “It seems the number of people has increased significantly today…”
“Yes, Sister Vania. As of now, we have already accepted 674 people today. Combined with the previous days, our total exceeds ten thousand. Managing food, administration, and medical care is becoming increasingly difficult…” a nun named Phil reports, and Vania’s expression grows even more serious upon hearing this.
“How much longer can we sustain our food supply?”
“If the population remains constant… we can last at most another ten days, but at the current rate of growth, we may run out in six days or even five. Although we prepared a significant amount of food, we didn’t intend to rely solely on it for relief…”
Sister Phil’s tone is grave. While their team brought plenty of food, the amount is capped by their clothing limits. They originally planned to purchase additional supplies in Bastis, but now find the city closed to them, unable to buy the stockpiled food inside.
“And what about the procurement team we sent out? Have they sent any updates?” Vania continues to inquire. She had recognized the looming food problem early on and dispatched a team to scout for food in other parts of Busairite.
“The procurement team has reported back, but unfortunately, they found no places to buy food. Due to the Plague’s devastation, many tribes have lost their workforce and cannot harvest crops. Even those tribes with food have hoarded it and aren’t selling… More critically, a strong band of desert bandits recently appeared, raiding all the surrounding villages and stealing their food…” Phil further explains, and Vania quickly identifies the underlying issue.
“Bandits? Even amidst the Plague, there are still bandits moving about freely?”
“Yes… it is indeed strange. When our procurement team reached those villages, they had already been ransacked. The tribes were helpless against those seemingly agile bandits, thanks to the Plague’s impact.”
“These bandits only steal food but leave little carnage behind. Most of the pederated tribesmen were let go… To be honest, a significant number of the refugees here are members from those raided tribes, seeking help because they have no food…”
“Apart from this critical food issue, we are facing other problems too. As the number of refugees skyrockets, our management staff is gradually becoming insufficient. Many of us, exposed to patients for a long time, have begun to contract the Plague, which spreads rapidly. Even with protective gear, we are not fully immune to infection. The healing nuns, having shifted focus away from treating refugees to caring for our own personnel, are finding it increasingly hard to cope.”
Phil continues to explain to Vania, whose expression deepens into a furrow of concern. She had not anticipated that the moment they arrived in Bastis, they would find themselves struggling under the weight of relief efforts.
“Bandits capable of moving freely during the Plague… It seems they prepared well to target us…” Vania reflects, then turns her gaze towards the distant walls of Bastis, seemingly aware that this is the work of the Eternal Life Cult.
“The incursions by those bandits began before we reached Bastis. Clearly, it’s the doing of those cultists who aim to create a massive refugee crisis for us while hoarding the food supplies, holding Bastis—a crucial food depot and trade center—hostage. They want us to be buried under the weight of these refugees,” gasps Gaspare, sword in hand, his face stern. He then looks to Vania and solemnly suggests, “Sister Vania, those cultists want to use the refugees to drown us. We shouldn’t fall for their trap. Let’s attack Bastis directly and take the city! If we secure the vast amounts of food inside, we could sustain tens of thousands for a long while!”
Gaspare boldly nudges Vania, seemingly itching to go after the cultists in the city. Seeing his eagerness, Phil chimes in, “Sister Vania, Gaspare has a point. Continuing as we are won’t do us any good. While a direct assault could put the brainwashed civilians in danger and breed resentment against us, we may not have the luxury of time anymore. Sometimes, to save more people, we must sacrifice a few things…”
As she listens to Phil, Vania sighs quietly before responding, “It’s not time to discuss giving up yet. Let’s hold on for a day or two more…” With that, Vania walks toward the horizon, prompting Phil and Gaspare to follow suit after a moment’s hesitation.
…
At a certain place in the camp, Doro, having just visited Vania, sits cross-legged on the carpet, deeply contemplating the current situation facing the camp.
“Food shortage, huh? It seems those Eternal Life Cult folks want to drive the Church out without a fight, knowing that the Church relies heavily on ordinary people. They’re trying to undermine us in this way, aiming to disrupt our preaching environment in the Busairite region…”
Doro thinks to herself. Initially, she planned to focus solely on finding Heoperis, but given the current situation, she realizes she can’t ignore it. If this continues, Vania and her team will have to return without locating Heoperis, making it difficult for her to recruit muscle if trouble arises.
So, Doro sets aside her Heoperis quest for a moment and starts seriously thinking about how to solve Vania’s current predicament. But the issue is indeed quite thorny.
“The problem in Busairite fundamentally lies with the Plague. As long as this plague is not resolved, there won’t be any peace… But right now, we have no real solution, only temporary measures to curb the food issue.”
“But the food problem is no easy fix… My abilities can’t conjure food out of thin air. With nearly twenty thousand refugees in the camp, where am I supposed to find rations for them? Am I supposed to ask the Eternal Life Cult where they’ve stashed the Bastis food supplies? Those have long been relocated! Can we find anything in just three days?”
Doro’s mind races as she seriously contemplates the issue. Then a sudden thought strikes her—recalling an experiment she conducted a few days ago using the false historical records—her eyes light up.
“Perhaps… this method might actually work…”
Murmuring to herself, Doro rises and walks over to a low table, picking up a stack of manuscript papers. She lays them flat and begins to write.
As she writes, her Spiritual Thread doesn’t rest either. She controls a zombie puppet collecting intelligence within Bastis to infiltrate a small barn in the city, stealthily stealing a young lamb before quietly delivering it outside the walls.
After writing to a certain point, Doro picks up her manuscript, exits the tent, and heads into a grove in the oasis. There, her zombie puppet, now holding the bleating lamb, waits for her.
Then, Doro allows the zombie holding the lamb to touch her manuscript. After adding the final pen stroke, she and her puppet disappear from the spot.
In a swirl of vertigo, Doro, along with her zombie and the lamb, arrives in a new world. Upon landing, she gazes around, noticing that the lush woods have transformed into a grassy plain. Standing on a hill amidst this grassland, she sees countless humble dwellings and curling wisps of smoke rising into the air.
The walls of Bastis are nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by homes on the hilltops, with a meandering brook flowing from afar. The barren desert outside the oasis has vanished, now a vast expanse of grassland, dotted with herds of cattle and sheep.
This is the fictitious world created by Doro, born from the legacy of the Faharn Dynasty. In crafting this world’s history, Doro inflated Busairite’s annual rainfall to permissible limits, successfully transforming its desert climate into a grassland one, giving rise to a culture enriched by meadows.
Once in the Faharn fictitious world, Doro doesn’t linger. She first dismantles her manuscript into segments, pulling out the latest page and storing the remainder in her Magic Box. Utilizing a magnetically controlled pen, she levitates to strike out the year noted on the manuscript.
Once the year 1361 disappears, another dizzying whirl ensues. When the world clarifies once more, Doro finds herself looking at a familiar grassland scene. This is the year 1360 in her fictitious history—it’s the last documented year in her records.
Upon arriving in the year 1360 of the Faharn Kingdom, Doro creates a merchant identity for her zombie puppet and lets it take the lamb to a wealthy pastoralist’s home, paying them to help raise the lamb for a while.
After sending off the lamb for fostering, she instructs the zombie to return and retrieves the Faharn Dynasty’s fictitious manuscript from her Magic Box, directly adding a passage to reinstate the year 1361.
With another dizzying turn, Doro and her zombie puppet step back onto the grassland of the Faharn Kingdom and see grassland views that show little change one year later. She instructs her puppet to go find the same affluent pastoralist as before and successfully carries back a much-grown sheep—the “young” lamb of yesteryears.
Once she has the sheep, Doro urges her zombie to touch the sheep as well as the fictitious manuscript again. A final stroke invokes the record of 1361 back into the pages, and as the world flips back, Doro and her zombie return to the original historical domain, back to the little grove they came from.
Upon her return, Doro lets out a gentle sigh of relief, only to be interrupted by a bleating sound nearby.
“Baa~”
Turning her gaze towards the noise, Doro sees a nearly adult sheep munching on the grass before her.
“The things I take are of the world, the things I wear are also of the world, and the things I consume are likewise of the world. Yet the digested and transformed items belong to me. Indeed… this is the Fictitious World, demonstrating that the distinction between ‘the world’ and ‘the self’ emerges during digestion. In a sense, digested food is ‘integrated’ by one’s ‘cup’—is this the world creating contrasts?”
As she gazes at the sheep, Doro can’t help but murmur to herself.
