708 As It Is in Heaven (2/2)

The sound of a child crying rang out from behind the victims.

It soon stopped.

Charles lowered his head.

After a while, he looked back up at Paganini. ”How many provisions do we still have?”

”We are going to reclaim the wasteland, not offer aid.” Paganini shook his head in disappointment. ”There aren't many provisions left. Everyone has their allotted portion. All that Gaius is eating now is stale bread. Who has any food to give to others?”

”How many provisions do we have?” Charles repeated his question.

Paganini sighed and glanced to his side as the clerk bitterly flipped through the account book. ”Besides everyone's allotted rations, we have two herrings and five millet cakes.”

After hearing this, Paganini looked at Charles. ”How many can you save?”

”Yes, how many can I save?” Charles sighed bitterly, reached his hand out and looked at the clerk. ”Give them to me.”

The clerk hesitated, then pulled two bags off the cart. He pulled out two herrings, five millet cakes, and finally a bottle of water.

Paganini said nothing and lowered his eyes.

There were at least 30,000 refugees wandering outside the country now, and there were 7,000 in this shabby camp. Forget about the five millet cakes, even if everyone took out their rations it would practically be like trying to put out a pile of burning logs with a glass of water. Even if everyone in the country was able to get a bit of rations, how many would that save?

They could only stuff their ears and refuse to listen.

This was not shirking their duties, and it was not cruel. There were more important things to do, and more valuable things to be preserved.

It was not until Charles started taking the fish and millet cakes to the refugees that Paganini called for him to stop. Not to bewitch him, nor to stop his plan, but simply to give his colleague some advice.

”Charles, there will always be times when there is nothing we can do,” he said softly. ”It's better if you understand that now.”

Charles looked back at him and suddenly smiled. ”Don't worry.” He scratched his head as he smiled self-deprecatingly. ”If I really have a tiny advantage. It's that I'm not a person.”

Paganini was stunned.

Charles stopped in front of the dumbfounded refugees. The starving refugees looked at him, then looked the fish and cakes in his hands. Their voices quieted, then grew louder. That tiny bit of food seemed to possess incredible magic. It made the dense crowd of thin people move forward, crawling on the ground, gnawing on their fingers, with eyes filled with longing and greed.

Then they saw the dagger that Charles had pulled out of his boot.

The dagger glinted, cold as frost, making the crowd of people around him stop.

Charles was silent for a moment, then raised the dagger and slashed his pinky. Blood flowed from his fingertip amid the sound of cracking bone. The severed finger fell in the gap between the herrings and the millet cakes, probably falling on the ground, although no one saw it.

The blood fell into the water bottle, staining the water until it looked like it had become wine.

He cut a piece of cloth with the dagger and wrapped up the stump of his pinky. His twitching expression changed into a smile. He bent down, and put the food that he was holding on the ground.

”Eat.” He grinned and stepped back. ”If it's not enough, there's more.”

The people began to clamor.

The thin refugees stared blankly at Charles, and in the next moment rushed forward like a mire boiling over. They crawled towards the food that had fallen on the ground. They grabbed the cakes, stuffing them into their mouths, and swallowed them with all their might. When it got stuck in their throats they greedily drank the wine.

Charles stepped back and let them gorge themselves with a piteous expression.

Paganini glanced at them, then looked away. His face was blank, but in his sleeves, his hands were trembling uncontrollably. After a while, he called over the clerk. He forced himself to calm down and suppressed the tremble in his voice. ”After they have finished eating, gather up the leftovers. Don't waste any of it.”

The clerk stared at him, thinking he was joking. Paganini repeated himself, then turned away. After a while, the refugees had finished eating, and the clerk came back with twelve baskets filled with leftovers.

The people crowded around the baskets and clicked their tongues in wonder.

But Paganini did not look. He had his back to the crowd, and his face was pale.

D*mn, those idiots don't know what this represents…

After all those centuries, he suddenly had an impulse to pray.

”God...” He looked up and stared into the empty void. A rippling, blazing glow met his eyes, as if the gate of heaven was slowly opening and raining down redemption.

It was Eden, the heaven created by humanity.

Like an illusion, he saw countless spirits of the dead rising up to the Kingdom of Heaven, as if there really were souls in the world.

As if Heaven really existed.