The dark sermon of the Lord of Greed continued long into the night.
The sun fell, its light fading from the window, from the room, from the world that was waiting for the thing that would come next. The moon rose high in the expanse, silver and pale, casting shadows that shifted with each breath, each moment, each word that was spoken and would be spoken and would not stop being spoken until the lesson was done. And still, Acarya Errick spoke—unfolding verses, explaining meanings, revealing layers Ashan had never glimpsed in the Lobha Granth.
When at last the Acarya fell silent, Ashan bowed low.
"Thank you, Acarya." His voice was steady and careful. "You have expanded my horizon." The formal salute followed—precise and reverent. "Praise the Lord of Greed."
"Praise the Lord of Greed."
"Praise the Lord of Greed."
Errick closed the granth but kept it in his hands. Weighty. Deliberate.
"Do you know your next mission?" He paused. "Your missions?"
Another test. Why not just tell me, old man? This Socratic style only feels good when you're the one doing it.
His face revealed nothing. "Expand my network. Subdue more pirate groups."
"Hmm. That is correct." Errick's gesture invited more. "But there's another layer. Think."
The sudden sermon. The preaching. He's not just educating me—he's showing me what's expected.
"Proselytizing."
Nadrima snickered. "Pfft! That's... blunt."
Errick's brown eyes shifted—cold, serpentine, warning. "Sorry, Acarya!"
But to Ashan, he smiled. Deep. Zealous. Approving. "Good. You understand."
Ah. I'm a cultist. How crude of me to say 'proselytizing.' I'm offering salvation. Doing these ignorant lambs a favor.
"We tend these lost souls," Errick continued, "so they may find peace in the Lord's abode. Their debts were pardoned. Their souls are prosperous."
"I understand, Acarya. I will show them the Lord's way."
"Good." Acarya's voice grew solemn. "But it cannot be done by recitation alone. You must understand the foundation."
He paused. "Have you heard of the Darsanas?"
Ashan's eyes flickered—genuine confusion.
Another religious concept?
"Darsanas are not religions." Errick anticipated the question. "They are existential orientations. Divine philosophy. They answer the 'what,' the 'how,' the 'when,' the 'where' of mortal existence."
From religion to philosophy. A profound shift.
Ashan listened. Absorbed. This was the inner working of this world—the world ruled by sadhana.
"The Lobha Granth speaks of eight Darsanas. The Asta-Darsana. Eight Foundational Ways." "Every Veda—Deva, Asura, any divine entity—follows one of these eight. Or a hybrid."
"We, the followers of the Lord of Greed, follow Arthavadism."
The word hung in the air.
"Arthavadism teaches that Lobha—greed—is not merely avarice." Errick's voice deepened, taking on the cadence of scripture. "It is Metaphysical Transactionalism."
"Nothing is free." "Existence is credit." "Being is debt." "Salvation is balance sheet closure."
Metaphysical materialism. I can't even fully live my own philosophy—how can I live up to another?
But... I'm young. I observe. I learn. I let experience shape me. The one I carry—the one I'm building—it's mine. Until the shackles of morality break, I'll bear its weight.
Errick continued. The sermon flowed.
"Your worth defines your existence." "Value accumulation is spiritual growth." "Poverty is metaphysical failure."
When the Acarya finally paused, he turned to Ashan with a new question. "So, Arashen Ashan. What is your swadharma?"
Swadharma? Something to do with Dharma Veda?
Nadrima spoke before he could answer. "Acarya, you've gotten ahead of yourself. He doesn't know the concept." She addressed Ashan directly. "And no, it's not Dharma Veda. That's a separate thing—the religion of law and order."
"Ah. Thank you, Nadrima." Errick stroked his beard. "Swadharma. Two parts. 'Swa'—self, own. 'Dharma'—duty, way of thinking, way of living, understanding of nature. Religion and philosophy combined."
"So Swadharma is your own path. How you live. Think. Contribute. Be." His eyes fixed on Ashan. "I ask again: What is your Swadharma, Arashen Ashan? Do your values align with Arthavadism?"
Ashan did not hesitate.
"Before I answer, I seek forgiveness—from you, and from the Lord." He bowed slightly. "I believe in the Lord's path. I wish to enter His abode after death. But I cannot say I fully accept Arthavadism."
Errick's eyes flickered—lengthened, sharpened, became serpentine for just a moment. Then a smile. "Good. One can follow a particular God and still follow another philosophy. As long as it is supported—or at least not rejected—by Him."
"Everyone has their own Swadharma. That freedom is universal."
"So, Ashan. Is there a philosophy you live by? One that prevents you from accepting Arthavadism?"
Nadrima snorted. "What could a teenager know about philosophy?"
"It's not that I reject it." Ashan's voice was resolute. "Years ago, I discovered that the values I thought I lived by... I couldn't fully bear their weight. So now I observe. Analyze. Deepen my understanding. Until I can."
Errick's smile widened. "I like that answer. You're honest."
A pause. Then, softly: "But in the end, you will find the truth that was always before your eyes."
Following a religion. Holding a different philosophy. Remaining faithful to both.
His thoughts drifted. A beautiful paradox.
If immortality demanded I change my religion—could I? In a heartbeat. But my identity? My philosophy? Myself?
Could I change those, too?
Religion. Philosophy. Dreams. Ideals. Values. Beliefs. Identity.
So much to hold. So much to carry.