In modern society, where technology had advanced so far, faith seemed to be becoming less and less important. People lived among boxes of steel and concrete, seeking the basic material necessities of life. Not everyone had the luxury of pursuing spiritual fulfillment.
Simply put, if there was a temple in the mountains, it might take an entire day to travel there from the city. And after arriving, one would still have to pay to offer incense to the Buddha.
Wouldn't it be more practical to spend that time lying at home playing games and resting, or being dragged into overtime by the boss?
Most of the time, gods and buddhas filling the heavens would not save anyone. People could only save themselves, and money was a better bargaining chip, because it was proof of the flow of the means of production between people.
The battered church doors were pushed open, and someone staggered inside. The wooden floorboards beneath his feet creaked from years of neglect, while the smell of dust rushed at him.
This was the kind of world it was. Everyone lived with stark practicality. Even the church had long since decayed through greed and corruption, abandoned by the people. No one knew how many years it had been since anyone had entered this church.
The person who came here today seemed to be one of those rare believers. He had drunk quite a bit, and the paint in the small metal bucket he carried looked as though it might spill at any moment as he walked.
The once-beautiful stained-glass windows were covered in thick dust, allowing not even a sliver of light through. The empty church was pitch-black, and the only light came through the doorway before vanishing in an instant.
"Click."
The church doors closed, and darkness