Chapter 32: A God Born from Prayers

A rock, nothing special, became a god through the prayers of people.
It sounded like a fairy tale.

Wishstone explained how their chaotic dimension stabilized after their birth, shaping it into what it is now.
“So, you can’t move when I look because I’m human. A rock moving in front of someone would be… weird.”

“Though I’m a deity, I’m low-ranking, bound by my origins. Not moving when seen is a kind of universal rule.”
That explained why Wishstone couldn’t taste the smoothie—being a rock.

In a world where bird and cat deities savored tea and ice cream, I figured a rock could too. But as a low-tier god, Wishstone was tied to the logic that stones don’t taste.
Ahem.

Wishstone’s stories were so engaging, I wanted them to stay longer. But Bernell’s pointed cough signaled his impatience.
Just as Wishstone was bound to act like a rock, Bernell, born a high noble, seemed bound to act haughty.

He braved bloody, stench-filled battlefields without flinching, yet here he was, bothered by a guest.
“If it’s not rude… are those rags all offerings?”

I had to address why the café couldn’t fully embrace Wishstone—the stench.
“Yes, offerings from my dimension’s residents. As a rock, I can’t take them, so they’ve piled up over centuries unless blown away. The innermost cloth is hundreds of years old by their time.”

“Not just cloth, right? Food, fruits, vegetables too?”
“Yes.”

I felt dizzy.
Centuries of rain-soaked, dust-caked, rotting food mixed with rags.
Did their residents just offer and pray, never maintaining the idol?
Clean it up! Dispose of old offerings!

I hinted at my feelings tactfully.
“They avoid touching others’ offerings, believing it might taint the wishes.”
“I see…”

The reason for Wishstone’s state was clear.
For their sake, their dimension’s residents, and our café’s hygiene, I decided to act.

“In my dimension, they say filth attracts negative energy. Keeping clean invites good vibes and a fresh start.”
“True in any dimension,” Bernell chimed in, unhelpfully.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to wash those cloths.”
“You’d clean my offerings?”
“Yes. They’re old, dirty, and… smelly. Negative energy might affect your divine power. The offerings were made with care, but the heart matters most, right?”

So smelly!
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
They didn’t outright refuse, suggesting they were aware of the issue.

“It’s my policy to treat guests kindly. You listened to my story and comforted me—this is my thanks!”
“…”
“Is that okay?”

“Please, then.”
Yes! A good impression might bring them back.
“I’ll prepare.”

I stepped outside.
“This should do.”
Using 1 cheok of Causality, I created an outdoor tap beside the garden—a simple setup with a hose and a square stone border.

It seemed extravagant for laundry, but it doubled as a garden watering solution, saving trips to the sink.
An investment for the future…

Back inside, I said, “Here we go.”
“Alright, please do.”

With permission, I peeled—no, pried—off the rags.
Centuries of weathering had fused them to Wishstone.
“What are you doing? Help!”

I scolded Bernell, who stood back, grimacing.
“Why go through this trouble?” he asked.
“Kindness comes back twofold. I have my reasons.”

Some cloths were so stuck, brute force wouldn’t budge them. Bernell reached for his sword, but I stopped him.
“Didn’t you hear? These hold wishes. Don’t damage them.”

“I say leaving them this filthy is damage.”
“Keep their form intact.”

Together, we wrestled off the rags, revealing Wishstone’s true form.
Not a polished statue, but its natural shape was astonishingly refined, sculpted by nature’s forces.

It resembled a woman praying, eyes closed, with six distinct fingers—an incredible feat of wind and erosion.
The serene, kind face matched Wishstone’s aura, faintly reminiscent of a Madonna statue.

“I think your true form, free of offerings, would inspire more faith in your residents.”
Many probably didn’t know their idol’s true appearance.

Huff.
Holding my breath, I carried the rags to the tap, dumping them in the stone border. Water poured out, and without soap, black grime flowed into the drain.

“Wow… this is filthy. What if the smell sticks to me?”
Muttering, I caught Bernell sniffing himself, scowling.
“I’ll build you a bathroom when this is done.”

The tap pushed the café to rank 4.
With room before rank 5, a bathroom was feasible.
Before Bernell, I used a tiny washroom for everything—cleaning, washing, showering. I’d survived worse in cramped study rooms, but for noble Bernell, it was a shock.

I’d delayed due to Causality costs, but his misery convinced me to add a proper bathroom upstairs.
That could wait.

I soaked the cloths, pouring in detergent generously.
“Don’t tell me not to act like a servant. I told you, I’m not like your sister. This was normal in my dimension.”

I rolled up my pants as Bernell looked ready to complain.
“…”
“Get used to it. This isn’t Abelgart Manor.”

Seeing his disappointed face, I softened.
“Think of it differently. Your bedridden sister is now running a café, farming, and doing laundry. Isn’t that comforting? Better than lying lifeless, right?”

I avoided mentioning Aileen directly, but it was too effective with Bernell.
Leaving him to ponder, I stepped barefoot onto the rags, stomping hard.
Grime mixed with soap suds poured out.

“Wow… they were white? Unbelievable.”
The cloths regained their original colors, stunning me.
Not perfect, but they weren’t all black to start.

“Impressive,” Wishstone said, standing behind me, watching.
While washing, I noticed dirt on their statue form.
I wasn’t obsessive about cleanliness, but once started, I couldn’t ignore it.

“I’m so sorry, but… cleaning the offerings isn’t enough. May I wash you too?”
With permission, I left the cloths soaking and grabbed a scrubber.
As I scrubbed like washing a car, I spotted the pig-bird, waddling out.

Wait, I haven’t bathed it since it arrived.
Something in me snapped.
That day, I washed rags, scrubbed a deity, and bathed the pig-bird.

Exhausting, but it cleared my mind of worries about evil gods.
The cleaned cloths hung in the garden as I rested on a chair.
Wishstone, now gleaming white, sat at the bar.

I was stunned to see their statue was pure white stone.
“I feel refreshed,” they said.
“You look reborn.”

The freshly bathed pig-bird, fluffy and sleepy, nestled in its nest, eyes and beak buried in downy feathers.
It didn’t mind bathing, but washing its huge body was grueling. It kept trying to hug me with wet wings, soaking me.

“I had a wonderful experience. A heartfelt offering and a thorough cleaning.”
“For a deity managing a dimension, this is the least I could do.”
Flattery included.

Satisfied, Wishstone paid 3 cheok of Causality—a big sum for a low-tier god—and left, granting me a visit to their dimension.
They said it could offset costs, and they’d gladly host me.

“Goodbye!”
Maybe next visit, I’d see their dimension.