The quarrel between the two streams of thought was forcibly stopped.
I was good at strategy games, but this was no longer a strategy game.
I was a spectator watching a film, and all I saw were tragedies. I was a witness to history, and every story pierced deep into Evan's soul.
Was this like reading a history book? Those people's prayers were like pages from storybooks, a few pages plucked at random from billions of books and crammed into Evan's mind—into this thin little book spanning only four hundred years.
This was an opportunity, an opportunity to find himself. As countless prayers washed over him and eroded memories whose anchors were weak, only his most fundamental, steadfast convictions would emerge.
Evan decided to cleanse his memories.
First, while he could still more or less recognize himself, he believed he had never prayed... The times I did don't count, okay? Better delete the bits where I cursed His Imperial Majesty for being a great landlord who wouldn't let me rest and kept piling work on me.
And every memory pouring in now contained prayers.
Memories of people who had never prayed to the Emperor would not enter in the first place.
That meant all his memories without prayers, even if shattered, would become his true memories again once he pieced those fragments together later.
But there was a problem: how could he pass this idea on to his future self, so he could find it once the Emperor returned and the influx of faith's power stopped?
How could he find that single thought: "Connecting all the memories without prayers will restore my self"?
Evan decided to use the oldest method. The same two streams of thought would repeat their words endlessly, only now with an extra ingredient mixed into the