The God's Palette

"A very long time ago, we didn't know how to farm. On this island, we lived a life of drinking blood and eating raw flesh. The terrifying monsters that occasionally appeared in the sea would easily take our lives."

"Then, the god descended."

"He held a miraculous paintbrush."

"He painted a giant red tree, and from then on, we no longer feared the onslaught of the waves."

"He painted fertile soil, and from then on, we no longer worried about famine running rampant."

"For generations, we guarded this god-given land, no longer approaching the mysterious sea, resting peacefully in the embrace of the benevolent god, sleeping soundly."

"But for a hundred years now, the god has stopped bestowing blessings upon the island."

"God, why are You unwilling to grant us Your blessings?"

"God, come back quickly! We need You!"

Mona watched quietly as the little figure on the canvas led the crowd, calling out to him again and again in the temple toward the sky, and in his heart, there was only a faint, indifferent chuckle.

Why was the god unwilling to grant blessings?

That answer, only he himself knew.

This, roughly, had to start over a hundred years ago:

When he, as a fragile human, died in an accident.

Having become a god, he awakened in this world and descended upon this island.

He quickly discovered that in his hands were the miraculous [Paintbrush] and [Palette].

Although the [Paintbrush] had no pigment, it could absorb the colors of all things in the world and place them into the [Palette] for preservation and use.

So, he lightly dabbed the tip of the brush onto the soil and trees of the island.

Soon, two usable colors appeared in the [Palette].

They were [Soil] and [Red Tree].

[You have obtained two new colors.]

[The Palette has infused these colors with a trace of divine power.]

[Now, they have become extraordinary colors.]

[Soil → God-Given Soil]

[Red Tree → Great Divine Tree]

[God-Given Soil]: Fertile divine soil that can nurture special crops suited to the current environment on the land.

[Great Divine Tree]: A giant red tree that can absorb the energy of natural disasters, shielding people from calamities.

"All things are my pigments, and the world is my canvas. Everything I paint will receive the blessing of divine power."

Mona murmured.

He quickly understood his power and tried using the two colors to dot the canvas, lightly splashing down [Red Tree] and [Soil].

Sure enough.

The red tree painted on the coast became the [Great Divine Tree], as tall as a city wall, capable of withstanding all kinds of natural disasters.

The soil painted on the high ground also upgraded into [God-Given Fertile Soil], capable of nurturing excellent crops.

And the miracles he painted, by chance, helped the humans on this lonely island survive.

"God!"

"God!"

The people who had witnessed the birth of the miracle knelt excitedly on the ground.

Those who had witnessed the miracle quickly formed a tribe that worshipped him.

Whether out of some lingering humanity or the instinct deep in his bones to seek amusement, He began to take an interest in the civilization that had developed from his power and chose to help these humans.

So he used the brush to absorb more colors.

He began to paint more miracles, hoping this civilization would continue to develop interestingly.

However, after he continuously bestowed miracles, The people were grateful to the god.

But this bred laziness and greed.

If a drought came, they would demand the [True Rain] that nourishes all things from the god.

If a storm was approaching, they would pray to the god for the [Holy Fire] that was hard to extinguish in the wind and rain.

The people were like children who felt they had nothing to fear.

Greedily lying in the embrace of the god, unwilling to seek a new life.

So, a hundred years ago, he chose to stop his blessings early, before falling asleep to consolidate his memories.

He hoped people would understand—

Divine gifts were not endless.

The wheel of civilization had never been pushed solely by gods.

Soon, after he ceased his blessings, the scene on the island began to change.

A century of concentrated farming had gradually rendered even the fertile soil, once brimming with divine power, barren and unable to grow crops.

Population growth made the meager food supply even more precarious.

Famine arrived.

Yet disaster did not awaken the tribe.

In the temple.

They merely prayed to the gods more devoutly each day, offering all kinds of sacrifices, believing this would make the gods once again bestow all things filled with divine power.

But the gods still did not grant their blessings.

People finally grew resentful.

Yet this resentment was not directed at the gods.

Because gods could not err.

Only humans could.

"Someone must have angered the gods. That's why the gods haven't granted their blessings."

The man in the stone helmet wore a grim expression.

"Only by killing the sinners who enraged the gods will the divine blessings return."

With a single command from the tribal chief.

The island descended into slaughter.

Soon, disabled islanders who could not work were burned alive.

They were deemed those who had squandered the gods' gifts.

Then came the deformed and the elderly.

They were sent into the flames under the same charge.

Finally, the tribe's rulers began arbitrarily burning all protesters who disagreed with them.

This slaughter went on for a long time.

Time arrived at the present.

"Burn him!"

"Burn him!"

The people holding torches had wild expressions.

This time, tied to the execution rack was a gaunt young man with a calm expression.

Perhaps driven mad by the plight of starvation, he had tried to catch fish by the sea.

So this youth violated the ancestral teachings and approached the ocean.

The onlooking crowd watched the young man about to be burned with fear.

They did not know if one day such a fate would suddenly fall upon them.

"This boring farce should come to an end."

Mona swiped his drawing board.

He quickly browsed through everything that had happened on this island during the hundred years he had slept.

When he dragged the timeline to the latest point and happened to see this scene.

The indifference on his face gradually faded.

Replaced by a hint of weariness.

It was getting dull.

During his slumber, such things had happened far too often.

If this continued, the scenery would only stagnate.

It was time to end this farce.

He retrieved the [Eraser] from the [Divine Artifact].

Then, on the necks of those wild-eyed executioners, as if wiping away an insignificant stain.

He gave a light wipe.

Someone suddenly looked up at the sky.

A cube-like thing, like an obelisk, flickered faintly.

"Oh gods, it's a deity."

The executioners heard the commotion behind them and looked up, the torches slipping from their hands in shock.

A moment later, they fell to their knees in ecstasy, shouting wildly.

The joy of the legendary god's revival made them forget the execution they were in the midst of.

A miracle had descended.

But this time, it was not the blessing people had imagined.

It was punishment.

A head.

As if carried by the wind, it rolled lightly to the ground.

The crowd's cheers cut off abruptly.

But the faint cube in the sky showed no pause.

Like flowers withering in the breeze.

One head after another simply kept rolling to the ground.

No blood scattered.

All the blood in the air was wiped away as if by something unseen.

In the face of such incomprehensible death.

Fear and confusion finally seized their hearts.

Why?

Why had the god killed them?

Weren't they carrying out the god's will by executing sinners?

The eyes on those rolling heads.

Only revealed deep bewilderment and incomprehension.

But the dead would never receive an answer.

Just as the god had once given no reply when asked why the blessings had ceased.

After a long time.

The world fell silent.

The terrifying apparition in the sky dissipated.

The onlookers of the execution knelt in fear.

They clearly did not understand either.

Why divine punishment had come.

Amid the unease.

Someone suddenly noticed that on the execution rack, the blood-soaked man was still coughing faintly.

"Look!"

All eyes followed the trembling finger.

In that place of death.

Only the gaunt sinner bound to the tree still stood there.

Morning light pierced the clouds, casting dappled halos on his lowered, thin face.

At this moment, the fire-blackened wooden frame was no longer a sinner's shackles, but instead shone like a gilded cross, pure and flawless.

The people were stunned beyond words by this sacred scene.

But they also came to a sudden realization.

The god had descended to save him, and so had brought down divine punishment.

The crowd surged forward, countless hands reaching out to untie the young man.

They believed.

That the god had appeared at this moment to rescue the youth, and also to save suffering people like themselves.

Fear turned to fervor as they prostrated themselves at his feet, kissing his toes.

As if he were the god's incarnation on earth.

The crowd surrounded him like stars around the moon, chanting his name.

The young man, who had been on the verge of death, soon woke to the sound, staring blankly at what was happening.

To go from the brink of death to being revered in a new life left him at a loss.

This was far more astonishing to him than the fickleness of the mysterious sea.

But he did not remain stunned for long.

After understanding everything, his gaunt face, with its prominent cheekbones, flushed with excitement as he lifted his head to the sky.

"O God, you have saved me!"

"Was it you who could not bear the deeds of those cruel people and bestowed divine punishment?"

"Please, merciful one, grant me a revelation!"

"What must I do to save the innocent people in the tribe?"

But Mona did not answer.

Nor did he need to.

To a god, saving him had nothing to do with him, and even less to do with mercy.

In the eyes of a god, this was a game of civilization.

Whether to interfere or not came entirely from a single thought.

It was enough to simply clear away some dull factors, letting this game proceed while preserving its interest.

Mona waved his hand, and the canvas went dark.

The clamorous voice vanished.

He could sense that after performing his miracle, the [Faith], which had weakened during his slumber, seemed to have grown a little more.

That faith could sustain him in continuing to play this game of civilization.

That was enough.

"A game of civilization... I recall being keen on this myself in the past, though I can't quite remember all those memories now."

Mona stared at the darkened canvas, suddenly recalling a fragment of memory from his time as a human, a slight ripple stirring in his heart.

Games had occupied a significant portion of his memories and emotions in his past life.

He remembered that he had once been a human known as a "game illustrator."

In his human days, he had been passionate about painting and gaming.

Even now, as a god, he had not forgotten them; even the way he wielded his power was tied to painting and games.

Mona merely glanced at the left side of the canvas-like object in his hand, at the panel that resembled a game interface.

There, [Divine Artifacts] and [Faith] were displayed.

[Divine Artifacts] represented tools imbued with divine power.

The [Paintbrush] and [Eraser] were just a small part of his many [Divine Artifacts].

Using these powers consumed divine energy, and once a certain threshold was reached, he would fall into slumber.

[Faith], though not the source of a god's power, symbolized a certain connection between himself and this world.

[After a century, you have once again performed a miracle.]

[The torch of faith has been rekindled.]

[Your anchor in this world has strengthened.]

[Your vision will now not only rest upon each believer but also linger on objects that retain residual faith power.]

Now, after performing his miracle, his connection to this world had deepened a little more.

Mona read the explanation on the canvas and tried switching the perspective on the panel.

The next moment, he arrived in an empty stone temple.

The faceless stone statue of his majestic form was his anchor.

"My vision can now not only linger on believers but also save itself on related objects."

Mona mused as he looked at the empty temple.

This meant he was anchored more deeply to this world.

Though his vision was still confined to this small island, it had indeed become broader and more stable.

He recalled that when he first descended here, he had always felt drowsy, his vision drifting and unstable, as if he might leave this world at any moment.

It was as if this world could not contain his will and power.

Though faith provided him with no power, and its abundance or scarcity mattered little.

But it was his [anchor] in this world.

As long as this world held even a single spark of faith, He would not leave.

Conversely, if He lost all anchors, He would soon lose the world's [anchor] and become a true god.

A god represented a departure from the realm of living beings—losing consciousness, emotion, and all memory, becoming the embodiment of rules and concepts that tower above the world.

If He truly became what was called a true god, it would be far too lonely, and far too dull.

He did not want that.

At least not now.

He wanted to wait a little longer.

To linger in this world, watching this game of civilization play out.

Until that day arrived.