The Gods Are Flat-Broke Again

The circle was too perfect.

Which is to say, it was perfectly suspicious.

In divine spaces, perfection isn't elegance. It's threat made symmetrical. A warning geometry. A statement that someone has enough power to care about aesthetics after accounting for bloodshed. The arena had no walls, only a circle of blessed stone laid flat into the earth, humming faintly with sanctioned hostility. It bore the seal of the Worship Stabilization Authority, whose name alone was enough to make even minor gods sit up and reevaluate their doctrine branding.

This arena wasn't built for sport. It was for resolution. And not the kind that left room for compromise.

The magistrates stood at the edge, holding rods that glowed faintly with divine authorization. The court's decision had been rendered in near-silence—Sōma would fight. Trial by combat. Traditional. Efficient. Legally binding.

"This is your fault," I muttered, not looking at Rekka.

Rekka folded her arms. "Technically, it's your choice. You could've walked away."

"I was involuntarily conscripted."

"So were we all."

Kirin stood a few paces behind, arms folded, eyes impassive. If she disapproved of the situation, she didn't say so. Then again, she hadn't said much since the verdict was handed down. She did, however, do one thing.

She stepped forward, produced a small silver token from within her robes, and pressed it into my hand.

"One-time favor," she said. "Redirects any singular miracle effect to the nearest valid source. It's from Tezukiri. Use it well."

I looked down at the coin. It was unassuming. Light. Cool.

It pulsed once in my palm like a second heartbeat.

"And if I misuse it?"

She gave me a look that was more shape than emotion. "Then it'll decide what's fair. Not you."

Right. Balance.

The crowd buzzed. The nobles who'd come for blood had taken their places. Local officials whispered odds to each other like gossip. This wasn't just a trial—it was a sporting event, an execution with refreshments. I recognized a few of the officials who had testified against Rekka earlier—now comfortably seated, fingers already fidgeting with WP bet charms.

The judge raised one hand. The signal.

My opponent stepped forward.

He wore the robes of a shrine enforcer, not unlike the type I'd filed three fraudulent miracle forms for just last week. His miracle registry glowed faintly on his sleeve—five confirmed aspects, one latent. Domain tags: Judgment, Sanction, and Flame.

Flame. Of course.

He didn't speak. Didn't need to.

He lit his palm on fire.

There's a kind of panic that doesn't involve running. It involves standing perfectly still and counting the ways your body might fail you.

I'd been in the divine system for less than two days. My WP balance had already been tapped twice by scam gods and miracle demonstrations. And now I was supposed to duel a miracle-grade enforcer with combat-coded blessings while I was still figuring out whether my badge needed polishing.

I took one step forward.

"Name," the judge called.

"Sōma," I said. "Auditor-Class, Provisional."

"Your opponent is Shrine Enforcer Keshen. Trial to be resolved by Miracle Doctrine Standard 47: Equalized Outcome Through Demonstrated Domain Supremacy. Do you accept the terms?"

No.

"Accepted," I said.

The judge dropped his hand.

The circle lit up.

There are two rules in miracle combat:

WP beats technique.

Unless technique makes WP irrelevant.

Keshen made the first move—a flaming glyph hurled directly at my chest. I dodged, barely, and felt the heat singe the edge of my robe.

"Are you insured?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

Flames coiled in a circle around him. Not just fire—miracle fire. It danced with intent, every spark loaded with divine subtext. I was reading heat like a legal document. The air itself bent toward judgment.

I had no offensive miracle. No defense. Barely a clue.

But I had one thing: an understanding of how the divine system hated inconsistencies.

And a coin.

He launched forward. A wheel of flame formed behind his fist—a burning sanction—a full-bore Level 2 judgment invocation.

I triggered the Balance Coin.

It flared once. The air snapped.

The miracle rerouted.

To Keshen.

It struck him square in the side.

He staggered. The crowd gasped. Even the judge blinked.

Kirin didn't react.

Keshen growled, smoke trailing from his robes. "Trickery. That's not doctrine."

"It's balance," I said. "Your god agrees."

He came at me again, this time slower. Testing. His fire spread across the arena floor, forming a grid of heat paths. Trapping me.

I stepped toward the weakest glyph. Pulled out a WP charm. Triggered a miracle.

Miracle: No-Trip Footing.

The charm glowed. My foot landed perfectly between two lines.

The glyphs destabilized.

Half the arena floor collapsed in on itself as the miracle triggered ground stability in an unstable divine platform.

Keshen fell.

I stepped back.

"Still think I'm not doctrine?"

He rose, bloodied, angry.

"You're not a priest."

"Correct," I said. "I'm an auditor. And you're operating above sanction level in a low-WP zone. Care to declare your funding?"

He charged.

I ducked. Grabbed the edge of his sleeve. Flipped him using the exact weight displacement used in shrine inspections for fraudulent robe gilding. The floor beneath him recognized the movement as ritual noncompliance.

He froze in mid-air.

The circle pulsed once.

The judge raised his rod.

"Combat complete. Outcome resolved: Auditor-Class Sōma. Case closed."

The light dimmed.

Keshen hit the ground.

I exhaled.

Then I heard clapping.

Not the polite kind.

The slow, deliberate kind.

A noble stood.

Tall, robed in black with gold threading, face half-shadowed by a visor of scripture glass.

"I see," he said, voice rich with half-concealed laughter. "The gods have themselves a wildcard."

"Who are you?" I asked.

He gestured broadly.

"Someone who's been looking for a reason to rewrite the board."

As they led Rekka away in shackles, now marked for divine parole, she turned once.

"Don't trust them," she said. "Not the court. Not the noble. Not even your coin."

"I never do."

The crowd dispersed. The nobles whispered. Kirin stepped forward, arms still folded.

"You manipulated three miracle principles and hijacked a combat circle. I'm impressed."

"Don't be. I'm not sure it wasn't luck."

She tilted her head. "That's still faith. In reverse."

I stared at my badge.

It had begun to glow.

And not for a good reason.