Chapter 4:

Chapter 4: The Tragedy of a Perfect World

The Great Mage Above the World

After resolving a semi-international crisis through what could, metaphorically speaking, be called diplomacy, I was finally given a chance to catch my breath.

Strictly speaking, it was still a war.

But it was a war between warriors.

Civilians would suffer only from the indirect consequences—the inevitable economic pressure that followed every conflict. Their homes would remain safe. Their dignity would remain intact. Their livelihoods would be preserved as much as possible.

As for the children, the elderly, and all other civilians, they were protected under the laws of the Continental Union—laws that allowed no exceptions and applied to every clan and every city that had sworn allegiance to me.

That was the extent of my intervention.

I had no intention of putting an end to every conflict.

My role was to maintain order, preserve balance, and prevent the continent from descending into chaos—or worse, economic collapse.

People often wondered why I didn't simply put an end to all wars.

The answer was disappointingly simple.

The world doesn't work that way.

And I had to live among them for a long time before I understood why.

I protected them.

When they could no longer protect themselves, I became their shield.

When their cities could no longer feed their hungry, I became their food supply.

When diseases ravaged them, I eradicated them.

When ignorance held their children back, I opened the doors of education to them.

I gave them laws.

I established institutions.

I provided them with everything they needed to live without fear of hunger, disease, or deprivation.

I never allowed a child to grow up wondering whether they would have food the next morning.

I never left an old man to be buried simply because he could not afford medicine.

And I never forced a person to endure hardship they had not chosen.

I thought that by doing so, I was saving them.

Perhaps I truly had saved them.

But I had not made them better.

That was the truth it took me years to admit.

At first, the changes were so subtle that I barely noticed them. A generation that had grown up without hunger began taking food for granted. Children who had never seen their parents choose between medicine and dinner could not understand why their grandparents had once considered such choices normal. Young men who had never needed to fight for the survival of their families began treating their prosperity as something they were entitled to rather than something that had required centuries of sacrifice to achieve.

None of this was inherently wrong.

People should enjoy peace when they have it. Children should not be forced to experience suffering simply because their ancestors had done so. There was nothing noble about starvation, and there was certainly no virtue in allowing preventable diseases to claim lives simply because hardship was supposedly good for the soul.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

When I removed fear from their lives, they did not fill the void with courage.

When I removed their need, they did not fill the void with gratitude.

Instead, something else began to grow.

At first it was simple dissatisfaction. People who already possessed enough began comparing themselves with those who possessed more. A merchant who had once been grateful for a successful business year would look toward his neighbor and wonder why his own house was smaller. A noble who had more wealth than his ancestors could have imagined would become irritated because another noble owned a larger estate. Someone who had never known hunger could spend an entire night thinking about acquiring a possession that served absolutely no practical purpose simply because someone else had it.

Then it became too large to ignore.

Abundance turned into laziness, safety into arrogance, and gratitude into entitlement.

Some began staring at what others possessed instead of looking at what they themselves could build.

Hunger was no longer what drove them.

It was the desire to possess what did not belong to them.

Then came envy.

Then greed.

Then pride.

And after that, what I had given them no longer mattered.

They wanted more.

Always more.

And when they found nothing left to plunder in their own lands, they began looking toward the lands of their neighbors.

And when they found no reason to hate one another, they invented one.

I saw people who had never known hunger fighting over things they did not need.

I saw those who possessed everything wishing for the blessings of others to disappear simply because they could not stand seeing those blessings in someone else's hands.

They had everything.

And yet they wanted more.

That was when I understood.

The problem isn't always what a person lacks.

Sometimes, the problem is everything they possess.

If you feed a person so they don't die, you have saved them.

But if you feed them until they never have to struggle again, you have saved their body while perhaps weakening their soul.

If you protect them from every form of pain, you spare them suffering.

But you may also deprive them of the very things that make them stronger.

Struggle is not inherently virtuous. Pain does not automatically make someone stronger, and suffering is not a requirement for becoming a good person. I had learned that much through watching enough people suffer needlessly.

But there were certain difficulties that could not simply be removed without consequences.

Failure taught some people humility.

Responsibility forced others to mature.

Loss made some people understand the value of what they still possessed.

Competition pushed talented individuals to surpass their previous limits.

That was when I realized my mistake.

I possessed enough power to create a continent without war.

Without poverty.

Without suffering.

I could have imposed peace upon everyone, placed food in every hand, medicine in every home, and the law above every head.

I could have created paradise.

A utopia where no one starved, no one lived in fear, and no one dared to harm another.

But a utopia imposed through absolute authority is merely another kind of prison.

When every decision is made on behalf of others, freedom gradually disappears.

The talented would be shackled by endless restrictions.

The ambitious would lose the right to choose their own paths.

The strong would eventually rebel against the restraints imposed upon them.

As for those who lacked the strength to resist, despair would crush them.

They would become people without will or ambition.

Without any desire to change anything.

And then the continent would not have lived in peace.

It would have died in peace.

Some pain shapes a person.

Some failures teach them.

Some losses give them a reason to rise again.

And some freedom must be left to people, even if they use it to make their own mistakes.

My role is not to create a perfect world.

It is to prevent the world from collapsing.

To set boundaries when they cross them.

To intervene when a conflict becomes a catastrophe.

To preserve order without destroying the freedom that gives order its meaning.

Moderation preserves civilization.

Absolute control destroys it.

People need laws.

But they also need room to choose.

That is the truth.

The love of an immortal transcendent being is a tragedy for humanity.

...

Ahem.

A few days after returning from the western city, I found myself sitting in one of the quieter rooms of the castle, enjoying breakfast far away from politics, military reports, diplomatic disputes, and humanity's seemingly endless ability to create problems out of situations that should have been perfectly manageable.

The dining hall was unusually peaceful that morning. Sunlight entered through the tall windows and spread across the polished floor, while the faint aroma of freshly prepared food lingered in the air.

Breakfast, as usual, was worthy of someone of my stature.

There was a truffle omelet still warm from the kitchen, slices of smoked fish brought from the Great Lake in the east, several varieties of fine cheese, freshly baked bread with a crisp golden crust, ripe fruits and berries, carefully selected nuts, natural honey, fresh juice, and, most importantly, a cup of excellent specialty coffee.

I took another bite of the omelet and leaned back slightly, allowing myself a moment to appreciate the taste.

"Hmm... delicious."

For all the philosophical problems that came with immortality, power, responsibility, and the burden of governing an entire continent, there were still some things in life that required no complicated reasoning whatsoever.

Good food was good food.

In the end, there are some things in this world worth appreciating.

Anyway...

Back to work.

Liz's cold gaze as she stared at this unemployed man was beginning to bother me a little.

She looked at me as though I were a piece of trash that had been left where it didn't belong.

The irony was that the very person giving me that murderous look...

was also the one who had prepared this wonderful breakfast for me.

I stared at her for a moment.

Then I looked at the food before me.

Then back at her.

I took another bite, partly because I was genuinely hungry and partly because I found the contradiction amusing.