Chapter 57: Planting Souls

I clenched my fists, brimming with enthusiasm.

“I’m ready to learn right now! Teach me, and I’ll do my best.”

I’d been struggling with the frostflowers in the café’s garden. Unlike other crops, they didn’t thrive with just water. They neither died nor grew, stuck in place.

I was eager to propagate them, cultivate a bunch, and develop new menu items.

“Where do I start?”

“Such enthusiasm,” Yakmyeongdosa said, smiling softly.

I wondered if I’d come on too strong, but he continued, “As expected, you have a knack for forging strong bonds.”

He looked skyward, and I followed reflexively.

A dot appeared in the distance, growing larger and clearer as it neared.

Black smoke… around a cow?

Clang, clang.

A heavy, unmistakable bell tolled—a sound I’d heard only once but could never forget.

“It’s today, then,” Yakmyeongdosa said.

“Master, shall I summon the disciples?” Blue Child asked.

“No need. We have helpers here.”

“Master…”

“It’ll be a good task.”

The object drew closer, revealing a black cow with a bell around its neck, led by a figure shrouded in black smoke—Yama, the death god.

I hadn’t expected to meet Yama here.

“Be… be…” Yama’s voice echoed.

“My old friend visits,” Yakmyeongdosa said.

Preferred Guest Type: (Special) Death God Lineage

All I knew was that Yama was a high-ranking death god.

Why’s a death god here? This dimension isn’t open to just anyone.

Fearing Bernell might draw his sword rudely, I stepped in front of him and bowed to Yama. A superior god deserved caution.

Yama, now on the ground, exchanged a glance with Yakmyeongdosa before briefly looking at me. I worried he’d recognize me.

“You seem acquainted with my friend,” Yakmyeongdosa said.

“…”

He answered for me. Thankfully, Yama seemed to remember me.

“To form such bonds across countless dimensional cracks is remarkable.”

I felt sheepish—my only feat was making drinks.

“Did you bring them properly?” Yakmyeongdosa asked Yama.

Wordlessly, Yama unloaded eight tattered sacks from the cow’s back. Colorful glowing orbs peeked through the holes.

“What are those?” I whispered to Blue Child.

“Stray souls,” he replied. “More accurately, unrefined causality clumps.”

“Those are… souls?”

“Yes. Souls generated in a dimension should cycle within it.”

I understood it as reincarnation.

“But when a dimension collapses or too many die at once, the capacity for souls is exceeded.”

He pointed to the sacks. “When souls spill out, trouble brews. Most become prey for evil gods waiting outside. Souls are a dimension’s causality, so they strengthen evil gods.”

Evil gods really devoured everything.

“Or they become seeds for new evil gods or disrupt other dimensions’ laws. Not all wandering souls cause harm, but preventing trouble is best, right?”

“Right.”

The former case reminded me of Pig-Bird and Bernell; the latter, Whitesnow. Without the café, Pig-Bird and Bernell might’ve become evil gods. Whitesnow nearly threatened Wishstone’s position in its dimension.

“Even harmless souls eventually vanish in the Cracks of Time—a waste. Collecting them is ideal, but few gods can, including my master.”

So, Yakmyeongdosa’s dimension was like a sanctuary, with Yama delivering stray souls.

As I listened, I felt eyes on me. Yakmyeongdosa and Yama were staring. Blue Child hurriedly bowed.

“My apologies, I spoke out of turn…”

“It’s fine,” Yakmyeongdosa said. “Explain more. They’ll help us soon.”

Blue Child continued, “My master can heal anything, even souls.”

Newly arrived souls were in a state of nothingness yet tainted, hence “unrefined causality clumps.”

“They arrive deeply wounded, tainted by their ejection—dimension collapse, wars, disasters.”

No wonder they were scarred.

“My master takes them in, heals them, and guides them to dimensions needing restoration.”

This place was a soul sanctuary, hospital, and dimensional pharmacy.

Restoration meant places like Catsey’s dream dimension, ravaged by evil gods, or dimensions overwhelmed by mass deaths—possibly evil god-induced.

“They don’t attack directly; dimension masters would notice. They sow discord from outside, waiting to devour overflowing souls.”

I wondered if wars or disasters in my world were influenced by evil gods.

“How are they healed?” I asked.

“That’s our task now,” Blue Child said, beaming with pride.

“I’d like you to help plant these souls in the dimension,” Yakmyeongdosa added.

“What about frostflower cultivation?”

“You’ll learn through this task.”

“Got it! I’m happy to help.”

The dimension’s master asked for help—how could I refuse? I might gain something too.

“I’ll help—” Bernell started.

“You have another task,” Yakmyeongdosa interrupted, raising his staff.

We looked at him, puzzled.

“Hmm…” He tapped the ground, pondering.

“What’s my task?” Bernell asked.

“Mind your manners!” I whispered, jabbing his side, but it didn’t faze him. Was he fearless before gods?

“Are you sure you want open ears for this?” Yakmyeongdosa said. “I’ll speak of the black spot in your soul.”

“…!” Bernell flinched, startled.

“Black spot? In his soul?” I asked.

Yakmyeongdosa smiled lightly, closing his mouth, as if awaiting Bernell’s consent.

“Disciple, start the task with the Manager,” he said to Blue Child.

“Yes, Master.”

Blue Child grabbed a sack. “Pick one up, Manager.”

The sack was light despite being full, so I took another.

Pig-Bird tried to grab one, but Blue Child stopped it. “No need, little lady. I’ll take another.”

He slung another sack over his shoulder, looking unsteady despite his small frame.

With Pig-Bird’s size, it could carry four.

“Follow me,” Blue Child said, wobbling ahead.

I left Bernell behind, following Blue Child. Why did Yakmyeongdosa want to speak to him alone?

Was something wrong with Bernell?

We reached a wide plain, bare of the mystical plants I’d seen earlier, just low grass—like a field.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“Plant these souls to adapt them to this dimension.”

“But didn’t Yakmyeongdosa say life from one dimension can’t belong to another?”

“You’re sharp. These aren’t life—they’re causality clumps, the essence of existence.”

“Uh… causality can’t create life…”

“Your eagerness to apply knowledge is great, but that’s simplified for beginners.”

Blue Child dug a hole, picked a yellow-glowing orb from the sack, and planted it.

“This isn’t creation—it’s allocation. My master’s dimension has near-infinite possibilities for life forms.”

Possibilities meant the types of life a dimension could sustain. On Earth, fire-breathing dragons or winged horses like Pegasus couldn’t exist—zero possibility.

But here, mythical creatures, fire-spitting flowers, or fish-tailed horses could exist. They had potential.

“These possibilities await manifestation. Planting souls enables them. It’s not creating from nothing—it’s making what should happen, happen.”

I began to understand why I could use causality in my café to repair walls, roofs, or create fridges and tables—because those possibilities existed, however slightly, in my dimension.

But life spontaneously emerging? No chance.

I wondered if, as my café’s level rose, causality’s limits would expand, allowing more complex feats.