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It was Klein's voice.
A chill shot straight from the soles of Benson's feet to his brain. The world around him seemed to recede, and even the flames grew dim and indistinct.
The flames of the ointment candles, scented with seawater, began to sway, making the light in the room fluctuate with them. They had not gone out even in the Grand Cathedral's ceaseless drafts, yet now they seemed on the verge of guttering out.
Benson's senses seemed to blur all at once. He could not quite hear or see clearly, and he felt utterly lost.
"I..."
Benson flinched. He faltered, forgetting every word of the honorific name he had recited dozens of times and long since learned by heart.
First, he turned to glance at the Mandated Punisher beside him. Had Benson truly understood the terror of gods, he would never have dared make such a move at a time like this-but he knew nothing, and so he acted somewhat boldly.
But the Mandated Punisher's reaction disappointed Benson. The man seemed not to have noticed any change.
Benson did not dare ask, either.
As an ordinary man with no connection to the mystical world, he was even further removed from it than his younger sister Melissa; he did not even know that potions and Beyonder power existed. Never in his life had he received a god's favor or response-or perhaps he had received favor, back when his younger brother Klein found work and their lives gradually improved. Sometimes Benson felt it was his greed that had caused the catastrophe that followed. He had wanted their lives to be a little better, so a god had given them a large sum of money and taken away his younger brother.
What should he do after receiving a response from a