"So what are we supposed to do? We can't just leave them to fend for themselves, can we?"
The familiar voice snapped Calca back to reality. When she regained her senses, she found herself standing on a vast plain. The surrounding scenery was blurred, as if a graphics card were on the verge of burning out while struggling to load the assets.
Calca realized she was standing atop a towering rampart—the players' Guild Base. The wall was dozens of meters high, its chalk-white surface seemingly connecting the earth to the sky. Inside the walls were luxurious buildings overflowing with cat motifs. Cats darted across the eaves, though their faces were obscured by heavy pixelated mosaics. On the wall, besides Brilliant-Angel-Mao~Miao and the scythe-wielding "God of Death" Surshana, the figures of the others were extremely blurry, and their voices sounded slightly distorted.
Brilliant-Angel-Mao~Miao pointed down from the wall toward the ground below, addressing the God of Death. "Look at the state of them. If we don't help them get stronger, these people will eventually just end up as mobile rations for powerful heteromorphic races!"
Calca leaned over the edge of the battlement and looked down. Outside the city, the ground was densely packed with illegal structures cobbled together from branches and mud—filthy, wretched hovels with sewage flowing freely between them. It was a scene more tragic than any refugee camp. The people below stumbled along with numb expressions, appearing like the walking dead. Most wore tattered linen robes, or nothing at all.
Calca understood. These were the slaves the Six Great Gods had rescued from the clutches of heteromorphic races—or perhaps even livestock that had been penned up as "food." This was the early period of the Six Great Gods' arrival; they had just saved this multitude and hadn't yet had time to establish order or management.
Surshana, the God of Death, spoke with a voice that was calm and icy. "But how do we help them get stronger? We're all just elementary school graduates. We aren't CEOs or presidents who have managed tens of thousands of people. In the real world, we were just corporate drones. There are five hundred thousand people outside these walls, and disease is spreading. If you hadn't just cast [Mass Cure Poison], they would all be dead by now. Even so, we can't find the source of the sickness."
A hint of frustration seeped into Surshana's tone. Calca suddenly had a realization: not every transmigrator was a polymath. The world Ainz came from was a dark era ruled by conglomerates with severe environmental pollution. It was difficult for ordinary people to receive a complete education. Graduating from elementary school was the norm; finishing middle school made one an elite.
This group of "corporate drone" transmigrators possessed max-level power, yet they were at a complete loss when faced with the intricacies of social governance.
At that moment, a golden, pixelated figure (Alah Alaf, the God of Light) spoke up. "The source of the disease... I think I might know. My mother once said that if food waste isn't disposed of properly, people get sick. We can use magic to help them clean up the environment, bit by bit."
"Fine, I'll help you. But what if they still don't pay attention to the environment afterward?" Surshana asked.
Brilliant-Angel-Mao~Miao gave the answer that would change the fate of humanity:
"Then... let's build a school! Not a 'corporate drone factory' like the ones in our era, but the kind of school I heard about from decades ago—the kind where everyone, rich or poor, could study from elementary through high school. We'll teach them what we know, so this tragedy never repeats itself."
In that moment, no one spoke, but an invisible bond of conviction enveloped the group of transmigrators.
────────────────────────────────────────
My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
I'm not the Queen Greatsword. (59 Chapters, Ongoing)
────────────────────────────────────────