Moshi spent a winter and a spring wandering along the banks of the river, visiting village after village.

He spent the Changmao Festival in the villages of those civilians, spent the Xiaonuo Spring Festival, the Danuo Spring Festival, and ushered in the Resurrection Festival and the Huanye Festival......

During this time, he did everything in his power to eliminate any disasters that could befall these civilians.

He clears the mud and rocks from the road mixed with snow blocks, he rescues children who have fallen into ice caves, he lifts up roofs crushed by snow, he drives out wild beasts that break into villages, he makes bonfires burn stronger, and he admires the villagers dancing in circles around the flames during the Chinese New Year, and the southerners dye their soles red during the grand festival and press footprints on the land or snow.

Mo Shi pretended not to be afraid of everything, and it was easy to pretend to do it. It was as if his fingers were a mystical grace that defied all the laws of physics and led straight to the power of the gods.

But this is not the case.

Theologians among the Snowwalkers (and the old age - ancient humans) have this definition of magic, believing that magic is a unique tool that can be operated in defiance of external rules by a god who bestows divine power directly on those he loves.

But in reality, there is nothing in the world that breaks the iron law of "equivalent exchange".

Using magic also has its price. It has its roots in the network of magical nerve bundles in living beings, and humans refer to the races that are born with magical nerve bundles in addition to their own race as "magic species".

Just as higher animals have well-developed nerve veins while lower animals don't, mammals have teeth and birds have beaks, reptiles have scales, fish have gills, and so on, magical nerve bundles are just such organs that exist in some organisms.

It wears out, it destroys, it gets out of control, it gets tired, it gets sick.

And "God" is not supposed to be corrupted, destroyed, or dead.

Therefore, in order to maintain the lies he weaved, Mo Shi tested his ** threshold step by step. He struggled to maintain his miracles, draining a vast amount of magical power. His magical nerve bundles were at full capacity. He hardly felt dizzy and nauseous for a day, and had a low-grade fever all winter.

There were times when he doubted that he couldn't hold on.

Especially on nightmares.

He couldn't tell if they were mere dreams or mixed with those blocked memories, and there was one dream he often had:

He walked through the city of high-rise buildings, electronic screens playing advertisements for goods long gone, broken street lamps flickering, the sky was covered with dust, and the "purification cover" was in tatters.

At first, there was no one everywhere, only the sound of his footsteps, as if he were the ghost of the city.

But then he was dragged into the crowd. It was a rally, and someone was standing on a high place preaching, and as he spoke, he cut off his long, pointed ears on either side of his head, and the people cheered loudly.

Then, it's as if you suddenly received some kind of command

It's like a snap of the devil's fingers.

It was like a silent poisonous fog drifting by.

In an instant, everyone raised the blades that were already in their hands, and the knives of different shapes were all destroyed by the barrier magic that had been set up, so the blades could scratch people's skin.

And that's what they wanted.

They were staggered but neatly separated by knives. In an instant, the smell of blood and death was unleashed like an.

Only Mo Shi remained motionless.

He didn't move.

It's a crazy world, he thought.

People have lost their minds.

However, the feeling of being an alien panicked him. Not superior to everything, but left behind by everything. He even wished ...... Maybe...... He had a knife in his hand. Maybe if that were the case, he wouldn't be in pain anymore.

Mo Shi woke up suddenly, shivering in the dark, his skin cold and misty.

He heard the crackling of the fire and saw the walls with the color of fire. He counted the slight popping sounds, then slowly calmed down.

"Duna......" he made a faint noise.

Duna slept right next to his bed, on the carpet, he knew.

Duna will always be there.

Many nights, he wakes up from nightmares, usually waking up snowwalkers with keen hearing and smelling senses. He would make a sound signal for Duna not to hold her breath carefully, and not to get up and do something for him.

A few times he said "Duna, I feel cold" and put his hand on the edge of the bed. Duna would hold his hand.

She was always in that position, years, thousands of nights.

Lately, though, he had felt that she might not be there. Perhaps she slipped out after he fell asleep, slipped into Nagao's room, and played around on the young man's bed. He couldn't tell. And he didn't know what to say. Some things are destined to be chaotic until the day they are revealed, and some things are always postponed until they have to appear...... There's always no timing.

Actually, most things are like that.

After the Resurrection Festival, the river began to swell.

By May, there was a faint sign of a "disaster year".

Ice is still being washed into the sea, but the rain is already falling. Although the snowwalker colony has tried to stay away from the Mut River, it is impossible for the town to actually escape the river, even if they do not need transportation and need domestic water. Man is born to live by water. And the house is not a toy that can be moved overnight.

The snowwalkers do not rely on agriculture as their basis for survival, but they retain ancient settlement traditions, and each has its own hunting grounds.

Moshi could almost see their desperate faces in the face of the flood, those low-pitched ears and tails, shaky beards, and fried hair. Struggle.

He doesn't want to see the hot suffer.

But that's what he "needed" to see.

If this spring flood is not turbulent enough, Mo Shi's efforts throughout the winter will be in vain.

He needs to make people aware of the importance of managing the river. For this reason, he did not hesitate to publicize his magic that was easy for ordinary people, and even lied that he was an apostle appointed by God. But the crucial thrust is to get people to find a realistic motivation to fight against the floods.

In mid-June, Mo Shi braved the continuous heavy rain and traveled northward, tracing the river.

From his previous travels along the river, he knew that there was a lake near the middle reaches, and one of the main lakes was a buffer lake for the lower reaches of the Mut River, but it had a narrow connection to the river and was lined with cliffs.

Now, Mo Shi stood at the foot of the mountain, looking at the slowly rising slope, as if hesitating to climb up.

Nagao stood behind him and watched, reaching out from time to time to wipe a handful of rain from his face, shaking his body and tail to shake off the droplets. The rain was really not small.

"Sir. He spoke.

Ever since Nagao learned that Mo Shi had become an earl, he began to call him "Master". But Longtail didn't often call Mo Shi that, unless he felt the conversation was very serious.

"Sir, I know you're not a talkative person, especially since you've come to the Southland," he said, trying to say, taking a few steps closer to Mo Shi, "but you didn't say what you came here for, and now I'm literally confused. ”

Mo Shi came to this Throat Gorge with only a long tail.

Even Duna was left behind in Kiryu City.

This means that Moshi seeks to be fast and stealthy on this short journey.

Nagao knew that he shouldn't be too talkative, but because Mo Shi had always been approachable, he tried to adjust his strategy with Mo Shi, and he did this for a while, and the results were acceptable. He found that Moser was happy to be asked questions and was happy to answer. On the contrary, Moshi is always uncomfortable when he is praised or paid tribute to

Even if he says he is an apostle and performs miracles in front of people.