At midday, I visited Village Five and headed toward the shrine to discuss its management.
"You two have certainly become close, haven't you?" Niz remarked as she joined me.
She was likely referring to Kitsu-san, who had shifted into her fox form and leaped into my arms the moment I arrived. It was true; we had grown quite fond of each other.
"I am rather envious," Niz added.
I looked at her, wondering if I should suggest she take her snake form as well. Then I stopped myself. It probably wasn't a good idea to pet a snake in that way.
"Hehe. That is true," Niz said, as if reading my mind.
Snakes were cold-blooded creatures, and human body temperature could be harmful to them. While it was fine for a snake to coil around someone, being touched by human hands was apparently not ideal for their health.
"No, that is not the only reason, but..." Niz trailed off.
I wondered what she meant. On a related note, I had heard that the Lamia race—who possessed human upper bodies and serpentine lower halves—didn't mind being touched at all. Perhaps they were warm-blooded? This world was full of such mysteries.
Suddenly, I felt a nudge. My petting had grown lackluster, and Kitsu-san was pressing her back against my palm in protest. I quickly resumed, stroking her fur.
A short while later, Kon-san, Progenitor-san, and Yoko arrived, and we officially began our meeting. Kitsu-san reluctantly hopped down, returned to her human form, and took her place as the facilitator.
Before we dove into the main agenda, Progenitor-san provided some additional information regarding the lottery.
"I looked into it, and it seems someone else came up with a system similar to what the Village Head described in the past," he explained. "However, as one might expect, it led to disastrous results and was promptly banned. The records of it were sealed away."
I nodded. It seemed Progenitor-san and the others had been right to view it as a dangerous concept.
"Furthermore, while I attempted to draft a set of emergency rules just in case, I discovered they already existed. They were quite thorough—limiting the number of tickets, the sale price, the stated purpose of the funds, and even the degree to which a deity’s name could be invoked. You can practically feel the desperation of the people who wrote them."
With that, Progenitor-san produced a large stone tablet with the words "Top Secret" carved into it. It was apparently two thousand years old. Beneath the header, the intricate regulations for a lottery were etched in fine detail. The sheer volume of rules was a testament to the trouble the game had caused.
"For now, I intend to use this as our standard," Progenitor-san said. "We won't be running a lottery ourselves, of course. But if we see any similar behavior popping up, I want you to let me know. I will use this tablet as the legal basis to crack down on it."
He addressed this request to Yoko, who nodded in understanding. I looked at the long list of names carved at the bottom of the stone and figured that those ancient signatories provided the necessary authority.
"By the way, can we leave that tablet here?" I asked.
"Since it contains sealed information, that might be problematic," Progenitor-san replied.
Yoko then made a suggestion. "It would be a nuisance to memorize all these fine details. I shall take a copy of it instead."
I briefly wondered if I would be tasked with carving a duplicate, but the process was much simpler. Since the characters were already etched into the stone, one only had to apply ink and press paper against it to create a print.
"Normally, such things were made by pressing the stone into mud and baking it into a tile," Progenitor-san noted. "But that requires significant skill and time. Since we have paper now, this is much faster."
It made sense. The stone tablet was designed for exactly this purpose. The people of the past were truly clever.
Wait. If it was meant for printing, that meant the characters were...
"Just like a stamp," I muttered. The characters on the stone had to be carved in reverse for the print to come out correctly. "Doesn't that make it impossible to read?"
I looked at Yoko, who stared back at me in surprise.
"Village Head, were you actually reading this stone tablet just now? Don't you see that the characters were carved in reverse mirror script specifically so that copies could be made?"
"Eh? Really?"
Now that I looked at it consciously, I realized the characters were indeed reversed. I hadn't even noticed. Apparently, my ability to read various scripts extended to mirror-writing as well. Regardless, the ink-rubbing method would work perfectly, which was a relief.
With the lottery issue settled, we moved on to the actual management of the shrine.
Our first major topic was the relationship with the Korin religion. After some deliberation, Yoko, Niz, and Kon-san all agreed that there were no doctrinal conflicts. Thus, the shrine would officially fall under the protection of the Korin faith. Since their teachings acted more like a set of universal guidelines for religious expansion, they were generally accepting of any faith that wasn't outright malicious.
Next, we discussed the specific features I wanted for the shrine. Although our financial concerns had been resolved by the tax allocation, I still wanted the shrine to have its own unique sources of revenue. Despite their previous wariness over the lottery, I gathered my courage to present my next ideas.
First, I proposed fortune slips—Omikuji. People would pay a small fee to draw a slip that indicated their current luck, ranging from Great Blessing to Misfortune. I explained that it wasn't a grand oracle from the heavens; rather, it was meant to be a bit of fun. A Great Blessing would make someone happy, while Misfortune could serve as a gentle reminder to be careful. I even suggested that drawing Misfortune could be interpreted positively—meaning that one’s luck had hit rock bottom and could only improve from there.
Progenitor-san looked thoughtful as I finished. "I believe there would be a demand for such a thing. However, the issue lies in which deity is perceived as delivering the judgment."
"Judgment? Isn't that a bit of an overstatement?" I asked.
Yoko frowned. "It could be problematic if, for example, a criminal drew a Misfortune and the public viewed it as a divine death sentence. Or if someone were pardoned simply because they drew a Great Blessing."
Niz added her concern. "I worry that people might harbor ill will toward the gods if they receive a bad result."
I sighed. It seemed fortunes were a no-go for now. The gods were simply too close to the people in this world.
"In that case," I said, "I suppose charms are out of the question as well? I was thinking of making things like prayers for good health or academic success."
To my surprise, Progenitor-san nodded. "Actually, charms are perfectly fine. Almost every temple bestows them upon the faithful."
"Oh? Then there's no problem?"
Yoko raised a hand to caution me. "There is one rule you must follow: you must never explicitly promise specific divine benefits for a charm."
I tilted my head in confusion. "What’s the point of a charm if you don't explain what it's for?"
Niz answered my doubt. "By carrying a charm, the follower feels the presence of the god near them. For the truly faithful, that is enough."
"Is that really all there is to it?" I asked.
"Well," Yoko said, "the gods' domains are already well known. The Snake God is associated with financial luck, and the Fox God with easy childbirth. A believer is free to seek what they wish. However, the act of believing solely for the sake of a transaction is not a virtue. Divine benefits should be viewed as a natural result of one's faith, not a guaranteed exchange."
"I see. That makes sense," I replied.
If bestowing charms was acceptable, then I definitely wanted to produce them. However, I wondered if each god required a specific ritual to imbue the charms with power.
Progenitor-san gave me a somewhat complicated look. "There are formal rituals, yes, but no one alive can truly prove whether they are being performed 'correctly.' In my opinion, if you create them with a sincere prayer, the god who hears that prayer will dwell within the charm."
So, we were free to make them as we saw fit.
"Though," he added, "I do think you should put on a bit of a presentation."
"A presentation?" I asked. "Is it really okay to treat it like a performance?"
"A presentation is just that—a way to show respect. However, you must ensure the performance doesn't contradict the deity’s nature."
"I see. Like purifying a fire god's charm with water?" I suggested. That would certainly make people doubt its effectiveness.
Since the deities at this shrine were animal gods, as long as the presentation fit their animal traits, we should be fine. If I ever felt stuck, I could always consult Yoko or Niz.
The only remaining concern was whether people would actually want these charms. The Snake God provided financial luck and the Fox God assisted with easy childbirth—both were things people would surely desire if they knew about them. It seemed difficult to promote them if I couldn't explicitly state their benefits.
"Village Head, don't overthink it," Yoko said, noticing my worry. "The rule is simply that you cannot make a binding promise of results when you bestow the charm. There is absolutely no problem with explaining the nature of the god to the people."
"Is that so?"
"While we discourage those who only seek material gain, it would also be a problem for the gods if their followers lacked all understanding of their power. Faith cannot gather in a vacuum."
"I understand," I said.
With that, we decided to move forward with creating and bestowing—rather than selling—charms. I would spend some time thinking of an appropriate way to present them that felt natural and respectful.