"Indeed. But a river also connects the mountains to the sea, does it not?" The monk countered gently. He gestured with his chin towards the celebrating merchant caravan, where the fat merchant was currently high-fiving his mercenaries, celebrating a victory won with paper slips and stickers rather than blood and grit.
"Look at them, Benefactor. They did not pray for salvation. They purchased it. They applied it. And they survived. Is that not a form of enlightenment?
To hold one's fate in one's own hands, facilitated by a simple transaction?"
Aurelia looked. She saw the relief on their faces, the lack of casualties. In the Western Sacred Lands, a beast attack of that magnitude would have resulted in deaths, followed by a solemn funeral rite presided over by a priest of the Supreme Sun, reminding them that suffering purifies the soul.
Here, they were opening another bag of chips to celebrate.
