Considering the hidden purpose, Eris didn't want Noa to get involved.
Eris remained silent for a few seconds, as if weighing the consequences of what she was about to reveal. The atmosphere between them grew slightly tense, the kind of silence that wasn't empty but heavy with meaning. In the end, she let out a small breath and decided that withholding information would be more dangerous than speaking it.
"Actually, there is something behind the elimination of the Demon King," Eris said carefully, her voice lowered as if the surrounding air itself might carry her words elsewhere.
In truth, she knew very well that such information should not be casually disclosed. The matter she was about to mention was not just a simple historical truth or a forgotten legend—it was something deeply tied to the foundation of belief that the world relied upon. Speaking of it so openly could be seen as a violation of divine order. However, looking at Noa's expression, she felt that if she stayed silent now, and he acted blindly later, the consequences would be far more severe and possibly irreversible.
So, she chose to speak, not to fully expose everything, but at least to stabilize him for the moment.
As she spoke, Eris also considered whether Noa might recklessly spread what he heard. But she was not overly worried. The world's structure itself acted as a filter for truth. Even if Noa told others, believers would reject it outright, dismissing it as heresy or misunderstanding. On the other hand, those who did not believe in the gods in the first place would not gain anything meaningful from the information either.
It was a closed system of belief.
Humanity, after all, was fragile in the face of extinction. When survival was at stake, people were willing to accept almost anything—no matter how contradictory or uncomfortable—as long as it gave them hope. If believing in gods meant safety from the Demon King's army, then faith became less of a choice and more of a necessity.
Eris had seen it countless times before.
People would abandon pride, skepticism, and even freedom itself if it meant they could survive another day. And once saved, they would often reinterpret their salvation as proof that the gods were merciful and real. It was a cycle that reinforced itself endlessly.
In a sense, belief was not born from truth, but from the need to endure.
And so, even if deception existed within that structure, most would still choose it willingly. After all, rejecting it offered nothing but despair and certain death. Between uncomfortable truth and comforting illusion, survival almost always chose illusion.
When Noa listened to Eris's explanation, he did show a brief moment of surprise. His eyebrows raised slightly, as if he had not expected the matter to be connected to something so deeply embedded in the world's system. However, the reaction did not last long. Instead, he quickly settled into a calm, almost detached expression.
It was not disbelief. It was more like confirmation.
"If that's the case…" Noa said slowly, his tone thoughtful rather than shocked. "Then that makes sense."
He paused for a moment, then continued with a faint smile, as if the situation had already fallen within a pattern he had considered before.
"Look, I'm not from this world, right? In the eyes of outsiders, reincarnated people and I have nothing to do with each other. There's no real difference between us from their perspective."
His gaze drifted slightly upward, as if he was organizing his thoughts rather than addressing Eris directly.
"So as long as you don't tell me, and I don't tell you, who can actually determine what I am?"
The logic was simple, almost blunt in its clarity. Identity, in his view, was not something fixed by origin but something defined by perception. If the world categorized people based on function rather than truth, then truth itself became irrelevant in practice.
Noa's smile widened slightly.
"Therefore, I can also be a reincarnated person."
For him, the distinction Eris worried about seemed unnecessary. If the world accepted reincarnated individuals as divine instruments, then he could just as easily step into that role. Whether it was assigned or assumed did not matter as long as the outcome remained the same.
Eris, who had been prepared for hesitation, fear, or even rejection, was momentarily stunned by his response. Her eyes widened slightly, and for a rare moment, her composed expression cracked.
She had expected resistance.
Instead, she was met with adaptation.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to respond immediately, but no words came out at first. The logic Noa presented was too casual, too flexible—almost dangerously so. It ignored the boundaries that most people instinctively accepted, treating identity and divine roles as interchangeable tools rather than fixed truths.
Finally, after a brief pause, she managed to speak, though her voice carried a hint of disbelief.
"Ah this ... "