Chapter 281: Chapter 281: God and the Church Are Dead
If the road was entirely paved with pebbles, York could assume this world was somewhat primitive, perhaps seeing some steam-powered machines.
If the road seemed to appear spontaneously amidst travel by horse and cart, it would suggest an even more primitive era, like the medieval period, where he might encounter corseted noblewomen and so-called noble knights.
However, as York instantly covered a distance of one hundred meters, he observed that the road cutting across the wilderness was paved with asphalt, sand sparkles, or possibly concrete.
"It seems this world is roughly equivalent to the modern era and also inhabited by humans."
York felt relieved as he stepped onto the road.
"This is manageable. It's plausible that everyone possesses supernatural abilities, or one might assume it's an apocalyptic setting given the desolation."
For York, as long as it was a human world, he wouldn't feel so alone.
Humans are social creatures, and he was no exception. Even if he had learned to enjoy solitude and isolation, he still preferred living in a human world.
Following his predetermined goal, York continued along the road, trying to find traces of his kind.
As he walked and observed, he dismissed the theory of a world where monsters and humans coexisted since he had traveled alone for so long without encountering any danger—not even a single monster.
Using his superhuman eyesight and hearing, along with the ability to control a hundred-meter radius like a scanning radar, the only life forms York encountered were wild animals like antelopes, mice, and snakes.
"This can rule out the theory of an apocalypse."
York looked ahead, his gaze following the road that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon as if it had no end.
"What exactly is going on here? Is this what the old man meant by a journey?"
Feeling he might have a long way to go, York couldn't help but feel helpless.
He was prepared for everything, yet since arriving in this other world, he hadn't discovered anything significant.
"No, there have been some findings."
York looked up at the sky, discerning a detail that shifted his perspective. Beyond the floating shards, the bright sky seemed veiled by a thin, blurry sheath.
At first, he thought it was due to the shards, but now it appeared more like a black gauzy cloud swirling around, easy to miss if not observed closely.
Therefore, he hadn't discarded the possibility of an apocalyptic environment.
Overall, aside from these observations and theories, York had no other new information to ponder.
"Just keep going, there will be new discoveries."
York stared ahead, continuing along the road.
Though the road seemed endless and bordered only by wild, tangled grasses, York was patient.
After all, as long as he followed the road, he would eventually reach a populated area.
Sure enough, after an unknown duration, he began to find modern human debris—plastic bottles, rusty metal scraps.
This indicated he was getting closer to where his kind resided.
After traveling a great distance, although there was no way to tell time, York estimated it was between three and five in the afternoon by the sun's position.
At this moment, York reached an intersection and scanned around again, finding no trace of humanity.
"Even traveling at 40 km/h, I still haven't left this area? How vast is this world…"
York shook his head, mentally preparing to spend the night in the wilderness.
Fortunately, having transcended human limits, he could survive without food, drink, or sleep for a month, barely feeling the cold or heat of the seasons.
So spending the night in the wilderness, using the sky as his blanket and the ground as his bed, didn't bother him much.
However, just as he was about to slow down and prepare for the night, York's eyes brightened as he looked to the right.
"There's someone at last!"
In his mind's three-dimensional map, a rudimentary pickup truck burst into view.
Inside was a middle-aged woman.
What made him raise his eyebrows was her appearance: thin, with deeply etched wrinkles, tightly pressed lips, sharp features, and a stern expression that spoke of years of hardship and a touch of cold alertness that kept people at a distance.
Her icy, no-nonsense demeanor made York think his attempt at hitchhiking might fail.
"But I have to try; appearances can be deceiving."
York put on his best compassionate smile from his priestly days, stepped back to the edge of the road, extended his right hand, and gave a thumbs up.
As the pickup approached, the middle-aged woman seemed to take a careful look at him.
Just that look, and despite York's compassionate smile, the pickup truck sped past without stopping.
"Ah, the human heart, so cold."
Watching the pickup disappear into the distance, leaving a cloud of dust behind, York felt no despair because he knew following the truck would lead him to a human settlement.
He understood the woman's caution; in his past life, if someone had tried to hitch a ride with him in the wilderness, he wouldn't have even given them a glance, let alone stopped, fearing trouble.
Who knew if the hitchhiker was a murderer or an escapee?
Thus, York calmly retracted his hand and started heading in the direction the pickup had gone.
But then something unexpected happened.
Before he could take a few steps, the pickup that had left his hundred-meter map range turned around and re-entered the area, heading back toward him.
"Could this be a change of heart?"
York watched as the pickup, kicking up dust, reappeared before him and instinctively stopped.
He wasn't wrong; the pickup deliberately stopped in front of him.
The middle-aged woman glanced at his satchel and black robe, as if recognizing something.
"Get in."
Her cold voice emerged.
York tucked away his thoughts, nodded, and under her watchful eye, opened the door and got in.
After he closed the door, the middle-aged woman started the truck again, turning it around in a cloud of dust and setting off without a word.
York was curious because it seemed she recognized him as a priest.
He glanced at the rear-view mirror and noticed an old satchel on the back seat.
"Thank you for letting me hitch a ride, but I'm curious why you came back?"
York looked at the middle-aged woman.
He needed to understand more.
"Were you a priest before?"
However, the woman's response caught him off guard.
"Haven't you given up that useless identity?"
York's eyes narrowed silently, continuing along her line of questioning: "Why should I give up?"
The woman fell silent after his question, finally only saying one thing.
"Oh, to think a priest as devout as you appears in an age where God and the Church are dead."
Looking at him, there was an unfathomable sadness in her eyes.
"Where are you going?"
Still absorbing the information that God and the Church were dead, York frowned and pressed down his curiosity and speculation, answering seriously.
"I don't know, I just came out of the deep mountains."
Saying this, York played it smart, tapping his head.
"I find I have no memory of this world, as if I've selectively forgotten everything. The only thing I know is that I was once a priest."
With that, York clearly saw the woman's momentary daze, her pupils dilating.
"A priest?"
York, keenly observing her reaction
, knew he had guessed right; besides priests, there should also be priests in this world.
After all, his identity was indeed that of a priest, though in the real world, priests are part of the Church, just in a different role compared to priests, who are more like the Church's logistical staff and managers.
But in his past life, priests and pastors belonged to different denominations. While there weren't many differences between them, that didn't mean there were no differences at all.
After all, different names and denominations meant inherent differences.
Priests not only conducted Mass and weddings but also prayed for the dying, performed confessions, and even exorcisms.
Pastors, on the other hand, were primarily responsible for leading and caring for other Christians, focusing on healing and support, more towards protection and management.
In essence, priests meant servants of God, while the original Biblical term for pastor meant shepherd...
"Why are there still priests..."
Clearly, the woman was taken aback, just staring at him, her focus lost.
The car began to veer towards the right side of the road, heading straight into the wilderness.
York quickly grabbed the steering wheel from the woman's hands, stabilizing the vehicle.
"What are you doing?"
With that, the woman snapped back to reality, hastily gaining control of the steering wheel, but she was still caught up in her previous emotions.
"Are you really a priest from the legends?"
Her reaction perplexed York; he didn't understand why the presence of a priest would astonish her so much, given that pastors also existed.
But he had some guesses.
"In my memory, I am indeed a priest."
Saying this, York, as if afraid the woman wouldn't believe him, began pulling items from his satchel.
A heavy Bible that could kill a man if thrown, a bishop's staff he possessed.
All these were things belonging to the religious domain.
For the first time, the woman broke her icy demeanor, absorbing the shocking information, she took a deep breath.
"Do you really have nowhere else to go?"
York nodded, knowing his approach was working. Perhaps today he would learn everything about this world.
What exactly did "God and the Church are dead" mean, and why was his identity as a priest so astonishing that it was described as legendary?
The woman glanced at the man sitting in the passenger seat, saw him nod, and couldn't help but exhale softly, then she pressed the gas pedal.
The humble pickup truck roared to life, thundering forward.
...
As darkness fell, York mentally calculated they had traveled about fifty kilometers when he looked towards a house appearing in their view.
This house stood alone in the wilderness, without any nearby support.
The only things around were a small grove of trees, and in the pitch-black night, the house appeared very desolate—not a place ordinary people would dare to live.
He glanced at the calm woman driving.
Through their journey, he had only learned that this woman's name was Myrta.
Just that.
But that didn't stop him from wondering what circumstances led Myrta to live here alone.
"We're here, get out."
Myrta parked the truck in front of the house, looking at the man who had been quiet all along in the passenger seat.
Maybe it was an illusion, but on this drive, she felt, after decades, a sense of security she hadn't felt in years.
This made Myrta start to believe the man's words.
A priest known for performing exorcisms.
"Mm."
York's gaze shifted from the dimly lit house, only illuminated by the headlights, and followed Myrta out of the truck.
As he surveyed the surroundings, he followed Myrta to the house's front door and couldn't help but ask.
"Why do you live here alone?"
Myrta, inserting the key into the lock, paused subconsciously.
"It's a long story…"
After saying this, she turned the key with a click, pushing open the front door.
"Come in."
York slightly raised his eyebrows and followed her inside.
However, what he didn't expect was that despite the presence of a modern pickup truck and the house having light bulbs, even a refrigerator,
Myrta, under his gaze, fumbled for a while before pulling out a lighter and lighting a kerosene lamp placed on the central table.
This was somewhat unexpected.
But judging by Myrta's movements and the nearly spent kerosene lamp, she had done this countless times.
"Have a seat."
Myrta looked at the man standing still, pursed her lips, and said with a complicated look.
"Although I don't know where you came from, you seem very confused, like a stranger who knows nothing about this world, but rest assured, I will explain it all to you."
York nodded, still following Myrta's instructions, pulled up a stool and sat down.
As he settled, Myrta returned to the kitchen next to the table. Under York's God's-eye view, she lit a candle placed on an old shelf and brought out some bread and drinks.
"I'm sorry, this is all I have to eat." Myrta placed the plate on the table, then sat down looking at the man with a somewhat apologetic tone.
York shook his head, looking at Myrta whose expression shifted in the flickering light, calmly said, "It's okay, I'm not hungry. But could you tell me what exactly is going on with this world?"
Pausing briefly, he directly added,
"And why was my identity as a priest so unbelievable to you?"
Portraying himself as an uninformed individual, he believed Myrta would take on the role of enlightening him about this world.
Because, through the three-dimensional map, from a bedroom in the house, he had seen a church deacon's uniform...
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