The Choice

Veyl felt a crushing despair. He recalled the tavern's prompt about that "follower," and it seemed that the second task was all about it. With nothing left to lose, he carefully read through the details.

Side Quest 1: Recruit a FollowerDescription: Three lost travelers, wandering in the thick fog, are now making their way toward your sanctuary under divine guidance.Content: This is a little test from the gods—a fated encounter with these three. But beware, one of them will end up killing you. Choose the right one and persuade him to stay.As a lord, the ability to make decisions and recruit companions is fundamental. In this impenetrable fog, your sanctuary desperately needs someone like that. You only have one chance—don't screw up your decision!Of course, if you can't decide, you have the option to leave no one behind.Reward: According to what you've been told, you're about to take over a branch of the "Sanctuary God." So if you want to secure His first investment, you'd better start by gathering a core team.The god is watching you, but He still has doubts about whether a faithless bastard like you can hold this sanctuary together…

"Fuck, I'm starting to doubt if you even picked the right person…"Seeing these tasks, Veyl's mind churned with mixed emotions. Although those red dots on the map had no labels, they were all moving. Some clusters of red dots moved incredibly fast—indicating they might be wolf packs.Maybe he could come up with a plan to deal with the brain-dead zombies… but those cunning wolves, even just one or two, could probably kill him in an instant.

"Even though this recruitment quest seems like a load of bullshit, I'm already at the end of my rope. I've got no time to hesitate. I have to pick someone."Shaking his head, Veyl thought, That first pot of gold is already hard to earn—an opportunity like this, even if it comes with risks, is something I can't afford to pass up!No matter how strong these people are, having one more person gives you a little more hope. And Veyl believed that within these travelers, he could find some clues to help him make the right choice.

Just then, Veyl suddenly noticed that the time display above the tavern had suddenly turned into a big "?" And before he could even process it, the tavern's door was gently pushed open.

Wind and rain blew through, and amid the flickering campfire, a tall, slender figure stepped inside. From the graceful curve of her form, it was clear that the hooded stranger was a woman. As she pulled back her hood, her long, purple-black hair—slightly curled—and deep blue eyes, as deep as the ocean, were revealed.

Upon entering, she glanced coldly at Veyl from the corner of her eye and silently extended a hand. At that moment, the fire in the pit roared to life. Soon after, the woman walked over to the window and stood motionless, staring out at the torrential rain, as if waiting for it to die down before setting off again.

Veyl focused on her and noticed a few lines of remarks on her profile:"A lonely, haughty, mysterious witch…"Specialty: Stabbing with a dagger and rolling her eyes.Monologue: 'How did I end up here?'Other unknowns: (With the current power of your sanctuary, you can't decipher any more information from her.)

Ignoring that infuriating specialty that made him want to spit out a sarcastic remark, Veyl mused, "A witch… a lot of people think they're evil, even connected to the fog… I don't yet know the true nature of this world, so I'm not sure if she's actually wicked. But she sure seems hard to get along with."

Veyl kept silent, planning to size her up from afar.

Just then, the door was pushed open again. This time, an elderly man in a white clerical robe entered. Veyl immediately recognized his identity by the style of his robe—this was a High Priest!

"Don't worry, I'm just a lost traveler like you in this fog, sheltering here from the rain," the priest said.

The priest gave Veyl a brief, measured glance—he was far more polite than the witch, his eyes warm and gentle, as if his mere presence could fill you with strength. After casting a couple of looks at the witch, he withdrew his gaze and, looking pensive, settled down in a corner.

The title on the old man's head matched what Veyl had guessed:A steadfast and devout High Priest.Specialty: Smashing durians with his bare hands;Monologue: 'Why hasn't the fog engulfed this place?'Other unknowns: (With the current power of your sanctuary, you can't decipher any more information from him.)

Seeing his specialty, Veyl couldn't help but think that perhaps the church's strength was indeed measured in such crude ways. Shaking his head to dismiss the useless details, Veyl thought, "At least this guy's attitude is a lot better than that witch's. I can probably find a way to start a conversation with him."

The arrival of these two formidable travelers sparked a glimmer of hope in Veyl's heart. Moreover, the priest seemed as if he had been sent by the gods themselves to help him out. If Veyl could somehow convince him that the Sanctuary God was watching over this place, he might persuade him to stick around. Yet, something about the priest's monologue gave Veyl an inexplicable, odd feeling.

He couldn't quite place the source of that unsettling sensation, and he didn't have time to dwell on it—because, as if on cue, the door was slammed open once more.

This time, an extremely tall and menacing figure, slightly hunched, squeezed into the room. The bald giant exuded a dangerous, aggressive aura, with a vicious scar cutting across his face. As soon as he entered, he plopped down onto a seat, thumping the table hard and bellowing at Veyl, "Get me some damn food, bartender!"

His voice was so rough and intimidating that it practically shook the dust off the beams overhead. A few clumps of dust even fell onto the witch's hair—she shuddered slightly but didn't fuss with her immaculate, pale hands, as if nothing had happened, determined to maintain her mysterious demeanor.

Veyl, busy stirring the potatoes in the fire pit with a wooden stick, paid no mind to the bald brute. In fact, he secretly hoped the giant would make a move, something to break the stalemate. If this "scene" could trigger some new twist in the storyline, then by watching how these three behaved, he'd be able to gather more information.

Glancing sideways at the irate, bald man, Veyl noted:A starving, down-and-out mercenary…Specialty: Incredibly good at eating.Monologue: 'Don't you dare touch me, or I'll show you what happens when I lie down!'Other unknowns.

After reading that note, a line of text suddenly emerged in the fire pit:"You only get one chance to speak. Once you choose to interact with one person, the others will vanish."

At that moment, the hot-headed bald man didn't act rashly. Instead, noticing that the "bartender" wasn't paying him any attention, he turned his gaze to the deliberately prodded potatoes, drooling. This left Veyl feeling both speechless and a little disappointed.

Once again, the tavern fell silent. All three of them froze, each absorbed in their own tasks, while the rain outside pounded relentlessly, ensuring the tavern never felt truly quiet. Veyl skewered a potato with his stick and began eating slowly and deliberately.

Only one of them reacted—the giant mercenary discreetly rifled through his empty pockets."Damn… when a normal person is starving, they wouldn't even think about worrying whether they have money when faced with food!" Veyl muttered, exasperated at the bald man's absurd logic.He added with a wry remark, "This guy's brain must be missing a string!"

Shaking his head, Veyl reflected. The contrast was stark—while the High Priest didn't seem like he'd be a wolf in disguise at all, the idiot might very well end up killing himself over food. As for the witch… she seemed almost impossible to convince. Yet, Veyl couldn't help sneaking a glance at her; her hair was still tangled with cobwebs and dust.He silently cursed the glaring discrepancy between her refined appearance and the overall dilapidated state of the tavern. In his eyes, both she and the buffoon were peculiar in their own ways. Ultimately, he decided to completely ignore her—she had no reason to stick around with a down-and-out lord like him!

"Forget the rest. Out of these three, I'm pretty sure I can't convince the witch, so I'm tossing her out. Now it's down to a choice between the devout priest and the bald brute. The answer is obvious."In the end, his gaze fell on the priest. He tried to speak, but an inexplicable, strange feeling kept choking him up.

Maybe it was hunger—the priest, clearly a bit preoccupied, slowly took out some rations from his bag and began eating, without even pausing to offer a prayer before the meal."Not even thanking the god for this patch of peace in the midst of the torrential rain…"Veyl's eyes widened suddenly!

At last, he remembered why the priest's monologue had given him that bizarre feeling. Believers and the devout were known for their intense, self-hypnotic ways of thinking—anything could be connected to miracles in their minds. And here he was, a lost soul with no faith, inexplicably wondering if perhaps fate had smiled on him.Unless he was a steadfast unbeliever—or believed in someone other than the Sanctuary God.

"Then who the hell does he worship?!"Veyl looked at the somewhat worn but remarkably clean robe on the priest's back and was certain that it marked him as a follower of the Sanctuary God. He knew he shouldn't judge based on appearances alone, but that thought wouldn't let him go.

Suddenly, he lifted his head in a panic as a sense of confusion washed over him. The entire tavern seemed to fill with a thick, inexplicable fog, and his vision blurred into uncertainty. He strained his eyes, trying to peer through the mist at the three individuals. But every time he looked, they all appeared different; he couldn't see through them completely no matter what he tried!

Frustrated, he grabbed his hair, feeling like he was about to lose his mind.Then, a new line of text appeared above the fire pit:"The rain is almost easing. Your time is running out."

No longer willing to waste a moment, Veyl decisively flung the potatoes from the fire pit toward the mercenary—with a hint of reluctance—as he shouted, "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by at least two heads! If he dares to try and steal my food again, one punch and he's toast! But come on, I'm not stupid—I can't be conned by an idiot, can I?!"

In the end, he still hadn't figured out who exactly was the one the god meant… but at that moment, he decided to take charge of the situation himself. He believed that even if the god had seen some future, he could still change it. And if both of these guys turned out to be scumbags, then turning a thief around was a hell of a lot easier than reforming a cultist!

The bald brute picked up the potatoes off the ground, not caring if they were scalding, and shoved them into his mouth whole. Then he widened his eyes and looked at Veyl with a pitiful, almost pleading expression. Veyl's eyebrows twitched as he glanced at the potatoes in the fire pit, feeling as if his heart were bleeding.Yet somehow, he felt a sense of reassurance—this idiot was not faking his hunger.

He tossed over five or six more potatoes, which the bald guy devoured one after another. The man, once on the brink of starvation, slowly reached about thirty percent fullness. Eventually, Veyl ended up throwing every single potato he had into his direction. After the bald man finished all of them, he let out a small burp, and the note describing him transformed into one that read: "The perpetually underfed, hapless mercenary."

Veyl's lips twitched in a grimace. He began to regret his choice of follower.But then he steeled himself and said, "Listen, my friend, this world is a fucking mess. We need to stick together to keep each other warm and alive. I might not have much food here, but it'll last us a while. And out in the good fields beyond my territory, there's plenty of grain waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around all alone just for a bite—why not stay here under my roof and share the shelter?"

Veyl spoke as if his domain were bustling with people, his words painting grand promises. As for being a lord or a noble, in these times, such titles probably only matter to the illiterate, superstitious serfs. In truth, even he wasn't sure how much food was actually being grown outside… After all, in "Johannesburg," the land used to only grow grapes…

"You really call yourself a noble? A lord?" the mercenary scoffed at him, clearly disbelieving.Yet the words "noble" and "lord" did seem to have some effect on the rugged man.

Veyl's heart skipped a beat. "Of course—pretending to be noble is a capital offense. My name is Veyl William, and every other lord around here knows the names of my father and me.""But you look even more broke than I do. I feel like if I follow you, I'll end up starving to death," the mercenary retorted with a look of disgust."Fuck, you're the one who's supposed to be good with a dagger, aren't you? And you don't seem like you're any less dim-witted than the rest!" Veyl muttered under his breath, his irritation mounting.

It seemed even the idiot wasn't keen on joining forces with him!

"Alright, let's cut through the bullshit. Out of these three, I'm sure I can't convince the witch, so it's down to two: the devout priest or the bald brute. The answer is clear."In the end, Veyl's gaze landed on the priest as he was about to speak—but an odd, indescribable feeling kept him from opening his mouth.Maybe it was hunger; the priest slowly began eating some dry rations from his bag, seemingly too preoccupied with his own thoughts to offer any pre-meal prayer."Not even a word of thanks to the god for granting him this patch of calm in the midst of a torrential downpour…"Veyl's eyes shot wide as the realization hit him.

He finally understood why the priest's monologue had given him such a weird vibe. Devotees and believers were the sort of people who could convince themselves that everything was a miracle. And here he was, a faithless bastard lost in the fog, suddenly wondering if perhaps fate had given him a break!Unless he was a die-hard unbeliever—or if he worshipped anyone other than the Sanctuary God.

"Then who the hell does he believe in?!" Veyl thought, staring at the slightly old but impeccably clean robe draped over the priest's shoulders. He was certain that this was the mark of a true follower of the Sanctuary God. Deep down, Veyl knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions based on appearances alone, but the thought had taken root and wouldn't let go.

Suddenly, he lifted his head in alarm as a surge of panic washed over him. The entire tavern seemed to fill with a thick, shifting fog, leaving him blinded by uncertainty. He strained his eyes, trying desperately to discern the three figures cloaked in mist—but every time he looked, their shapes shifted, and he couldn't quite see them clearly.

Frustrated and on the brink of madness, he ran his hands through his hair. Then, as if on cue, another line of text appeared above the fire pit:"The rain is nearly easing. Your time is running out."

No longer willing to hesitate, Veyl flung the remaining potatoes from the fire pit toward the mercenary—half reluctantly, half determined—and shouted, "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by a couple heads! If he ever tries to steal my food again, one punch and I'll knock his sorry ass out! But come on—do you really think I can't con an idiot?"

In the end, he still hadn't figured out exactly who the god meant—the one person destined to be your follower—but he decided that the final decision was up to him. He believed that even if the god had seen some kind of future, he could still change it. And if both of these guys turned out to be scumbags, then reforming a thug was a hell of a lot easier than trying to change a cultist!

The bald brute picked up the potatoes from the ground without caring whether they were scalding, shoving them into his mouth. Then, his eyes widened, and he stared at Veyl with a pitiful, almost beseeching look. Veyl's eyebrows twitched as he looked at the dwindling pile of potatoes in the fire pit, feeling as if his heart were bleeding. Yet, somehow, that solidified his resolve—the idiot was not faking his hunger.

He tossed over five or six more potatoes, which the bald man devoured in quick succession. The guy who had once been on the verge of starving was now only about thirty percent full. Finally, Veyl ended up chucking every single potato he had left at him. After the bald brute finished eating them all, he let out a small burp, and the note describing him was updated to read something like "the underfed, pathetic mercenary."

Veyl's mouth twitched in a grimace. He began to regret his choice of follower, but then he steeled himself and said, "Listen, my friend—this world is a fucking shitshow. We need to stick together to keep each other warm if we're gonna survive. I might not have much food here, but it'll keep us going for a while. And outside my territory, in the good farmland, there's plenty of grain waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around starving just for a bite—why not stay here under my roof and share the shelter with me?"

Veyl spoke as if his domain were full of people, painting grand pictures with his words. As for being a lord or a noble—right now, such titles probably only have meaning for the illiterate, superstitious peasants. In fact, even he wasn't sure how much food was really being grown outside… after all, in "Johannesburg," the land used to only grow grapes.

"You really think you're a noble? A lord here?" the mercenary scoffed, clearly not buying it.Yet, the words "noble" and "lord" did seem to have some strange appeal for him.

Veyl's heart pounded a little faster as he said, "Of course—pretending to be noble is a capital offense. My name is Veyl William, and every lord around these parts knows my father's name and mine.""But you look even more broke than I do. I'm convinced that if I follow you, I'll end up starving," the mercenary grumbled, clearly unimpressed."Fuck, you're the one who's supposed to be good with a dagger, aren't you? And you don't exactly look like you've got the brains to match!" Veyl muttered under his breath, feeling both frustrated and dejected.It seemed that even the idiot wasn't too keen on joining forces with him.

"Alright, forget everything else. Out of these three, I can't see any way I could convince the witch, so it's down to a choice between the devout priest and the bald brute. The answer is obvious."In the end, Veyl's eyes settled on the priest, and he opened his mouth as if to speak—but that strange, unshakable feeling kept him silent.Perhaps it was hunger; the priest nonchalantly picked up his dry rations and began eating slowly, seemingly too lost in thought to offer even a pre-meal prayer."Not even a word of thanks to the god for giving him this little slice of peace in the midst of a downpour…"Veyl's eyes widened in sudden clarity!

At that moment, he finally understood why the priest's inner monologue had given him such a weird vibe. Devotees and believers were the kind of people who could convince themselves that every little thing was a miracle. And here he was—a faithless bastard, lost in the fog—suddenly wondering if maybe, just maybe, the heavens had looked out for him.Unless, of course, he was one of those stubborn unbelievers—or if he didn't even worship the Sanctuary God.

"So, who the hell does he worship?" Veyl thought, staring at the slightly worn yet impeccably clean robe that marked him unmistakably as a follower of the Sanctuary God. He knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions based solely on appearances, but the thought had taken root in his mind and refused to let go.

Suddenly, Veyl lifted his head, feeling a rush of panic. The entire tavern seemed to be shrouded in a thick, mysterious fog, leaving him with a disorienting haze before his eyes. He strained to peer through the mist at the three figures, but every time he looked, their outlines shifted, and he couldn't quite grasp their true forms.

Desperation mounting, he grabbed his hair, feeling as if he were on the verge of insanity. Then, just as suddenly, another line of text appeared above the fire pit:"The rain is nearly easing. Your time is running out."

Without a moment's hesitation, Veyl no longer wasted a second. He hurled the remaining potatoes from the fire pit at the mercenary—almost reluctantly—and shouted, "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by a couple of heads! If he dares try to snatch my food again, I'll knock his sorry ass out with one punch! But I don't think I can't outsmart an idiot, can I?!"

In the end, he still hadn't figured out who exactly was the one the gods meant—who among them was destined to be your chosen follower—but he resolved that the final decision was his alone. He believed that even if the gods had seen some future, he could change it. And if both of these guys turned out to be crooks, then reforming a thug was far easier than changing a cultist!

The bald brute, after gathering up the potatoes, didn't care whether they were scalding. He simply swallowed them whole. Then, his eyes widened, and he stared at Veyl with a look that was almost pitiful. Veyl's eyebrows twitched as he watched the dwindling pile of potatoes in the fire pit, feeling as though his heart was bleeding. Yet, somehow, that only made him more determined—the idiot wasn't faking his hunger.

He tossed five, six more potatoes his way, and the bald man devoured them one after another. The guy who had been on the brink of starvation gradually reached about thirty percent fullness. Finally, Veyl ended up throwing every last potato he had at him. Once the bald brute had finished every piece, he let out a small burp, and the note describing him updated to reflect his now "underfed, hapless mercenary" status.

Veyl's lips twitched in a grimace as he began to regret his decision. Still, he pressed on, saying, "Look, my friend, this world is a total shitshow. We need to stick together just to keep warm and survive. I might not have much food here, but it'll last us for a while. And out in the good farmlands beyond my territory, there's plenty of grain waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around just for a bite—why not stay here under my roof and share the shelter with me?"

He spoke as if his domain were teeming with people, his words painting a grand picture. As for titles like "lord" or "noble," in these times, they probably only mean something to the superstitious, uneducated peasants. In truth, even Veyl wasn't entirely sure how much food was grown outside… after all, in "Johannesburg," the land used to grow nothing but grapes.

"You really think you're some kind of noble? A lord?" the mercenary scoffed, clearly unimpressed. Yet, the terms "noble" and "lord" still seemed to hold some sway for him.

Veyl's heart pounded as he said, "Of course—pretending to be noble is a capital offense. My name is Veyl William, and every other lord around here knows my father's name and mine.""But you look even more pathetic than I do. I'm convinced that if I follow you, I'll end up starving," the mercenary grumbled with disdain."Fuck, you're the one who's supposed to be good with a dagger, aren't you? And you sure don't look like you're any smarter than a bag of hammers!" Veyl muttered, his irritation simmering.

It seemed that even the idiot wasn't too keen on joining forces with him.

At last, Veyl decided, "Alright, forget the rest. Out of these three, I can't see myself convincing the witch—so it's a choice between the devout priest and the bald brute. The answer is clear."He finally fixed his gaze on the priest, as if about to speak—but that strange, unsettling feeling still held him back.Perhaps it was hunger; the priest slowly continued eating his dry rations, seemingly too lost in his own thoughts to even offer a pre-meal prayer."Not even a word of thanks to the god for granting him this little patch of calm amid the downpour…" Veyl mused, eyes widening as he suddenly understood.

He finally realized why the priest's monologue had given him such an odd vibe. Devotees and believers were the kind of people whose minds could be hypnotized into connecting everything to miracles. And here he was—a lost, faithless bastard—suddenly wondering if perhaps fate had smiled on him.Unless he was a die-hard nonbeliever—or if he didn't even worship the Sanctuary God.

"Then who the hell does he worship?!" Veyl wondered, staring at the slightly worn yet impeccably clean robe of the priest, convinced that it marked him unmistakably as a follower of the Sanctuary God. He knew he shouldn't make hasty judgments, but the thought clung to him.

Suddenly, Veyl lifted his head, panic surging through him. The entire tavern seemed to be shrouded in a dense, shifting fog, leaving him with a vision as murky as his thoughts. He strained to see the three figures clearly, but each time their forms shifted, making it impossible to see them entirely.

In a moment of sheer frustration, he grabbed his hair, feeling as if he were about to lose his mind. And then, just as suddenly, another line of text appeared above the fire pit:"The rain is nearly easing. Your time is running out."

No longer willing to dither, Veyl decisively flung the remaining potatoes from the fire pit at the mercenary—almost regretfully—and shouted, "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by two heads! If you ever try to steal my food again, I'll punch your sorry ass flat! But come on—I'm not gonna be outsmarted by an idiot, am I?!"

In the end, he still couldn't quite pinpoint who the god had meant for him to choose—but he decided then and there that he'd take matters into his own hands. He believed that even if the gods had seen a certain future, he could still change it. And if both of these guys turned out to be scumbags, then reforming a thug was way easier than converting a cultist!

The bald brute, after picking up the potatoes, didn't care whether they were hot—he just swallowed them whole. Then, his eyes widened, and he stared at Veyl with a look that was almost pitiful. Veyl's eyebrows twitched as he watched the dwindling pile of potatoes in the fire pit, feeling as if his heart were bleeding. Yet somehow, that only made him more resolute—the idiot wasn't faking his hunger.

He threw five, six more potatoes his way, and the bald man devoured them rapidly. The guy, who had been on the brink of starvation, slowly reached about thirty percent fullness. Finally, Veyl ended up tossing every single potato he had left at him. Once the bald brute had finished devouring them, he let out a small burp, and the note describing him updated to read "the underfed, pitiful mercenary."

Veyl's lips twitched in a grimace. He began to regret his decision to recruit this follower, but then he forced himself to rally. "Listen, buddy, this world is a complete shitshow. We have to stick together just to keep warm and survive. I might not have a ton of food here, but it'll keep us fed for a while. Plus, out in the good farmlands beyond my territory, there's plenty of grain waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around all alone, just for a bite—why not stay here under my roof and share the shelter with me?"

Veyl spoke as if his domain were brimming with people, his words painting grand promises. As for titles like "lord" or "noble," in these times, they probably only hold meaning for the superstitious, uneducated masses. In truth, even he wasn't entirely sure how much food was really being grown outside… after all, in "Johannesburg," the land used to grow nothing but grapes.

"You really think you're some sort of noble? A lord here?" the mercenary scoffed, clearly unconvinced. Yet, the allure of those titles seemed to have some strange effect on him.

Veyl's heart pounded as he said, "Of course—pretending to be noble is a capital offense. My name is Veyl William, and every lord around these parts knows my father's name and mine.""But you look even more pathetic than I do. I'm convinced that if I follow you, I'll end up starving," the mercenary grumbled disdainfully."Fuck, you're the one who's supposed to be good with a dagger, aren't you? And you sure don't seem to have the brains for it!" Veyl muttered, his irritation simmering.

It seemed even the idiot wasn't too keen on joining forces with him.

And so, after all that, Veyl finally made his choice. Though he still hadn't completely figured out who the god meant for him to recruit, he resolved to let fate—and his own stubborn will—decide the matter. He believed that no matter what future the gods might have foreseen, he could always change it. If one of these two turned out to be a lowlife, at least turning a thug around was simpler than re-educating a cultist.

Veyl's eyes lingered on the priest for a long moment before he cleared his throat and spoke. "Alright, friend," he said, "this world is fucked up beyond belief. We need to stick together if we're gonna survive. I might not have a ton of food here, but it'll last us a bit. And beyond my territory, there's plenty of farmland waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around starving all your life—why not come under my roof and share in what little I've got?"

The priest, seemingly lost in thought, slowly ate his dry rations without even pausing for a prayer. The mercenary, still eyeing the potatoes, seemed almost mesmerized by the food.

Veyl's words sounded grand, as if he were already the ruler of a thriving domain, even though in reality, the world outside was a wasteland where even the land was used only for grapes. The mercenary frowned, shaking his head. "You call yourself a noble? A lord? You look like you've got nothing but rags on you. I'm telling you, following you will leave me starving."

"Fuck, you're the one who's supposed to be sharp with a dagger, aren't you? And you don't exactly seem like you've got much going on in that head of yours!" Veyl muttered under his breath, the tension and frustration bubbling up.

In the end, Veyl's decision was made. He would trust his gut and choose the priest. He figured that if the priest believed that the Sanctuary God was watching over this place, then maybe he could be convinced to stick around. Even though something about the priest's inner monologue still gave him that odd, unsettling feeling, Veyl decided he had to take a chance.

The tavern, now quiet except for the steady patter of rain and the crackling of the fire, seemed to hold its breath. Veyl stood there, torn between the prospects of recruiting the devout High Priest and the gluttonous, street-smart mercenary. The priest, still lost in his own thoughts and slowly devouring his dry rations, gave no sign of objection. The mercenary, meanwhile, kept glancing at the food with hungry eyes.

Finally, Veyl grabbed a handful of potatoes and tossed them once more toward the mercenary. "Listen up, you overgrown meathead," he shouted, "if you try to snatch my food again, I swear I'll beat you so hard you'll regret ever being born. But I'm not stupid—I can't let an idiot slip through my fingers!"

The bald brute, after swallowing the potatoes, gave Veyl a pitiful look that made him hesitate for just a moment. Veyl's heart ached as he watched the mercenary's empty gaze, but he knew what he had to do. In that moment, he decided that he would recruit the priest. It wasn't an easy decision—both men had their flaws—but the priest's calm demeanor and the faint glimmer of divine purpose in his eyes finally tipped the scales.

"Friend, in this fucked-up world, we need to rely on each other just to keep warm and survive," Veyl said, his tone softening as he tried to convince the reluctant man. "I might not have a lot of food, but it's enough to get us through for a while. And out there, beyond my territory, there's fertile land just waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering alone for too long—why not stay here and share this shelter with me?"

The priest looked up for a brief moment, his eyes meeting Veyl's. Though no grand promises were made, that simple glance was enough to convince Veyl that his choice was the right one. Even as the mercenary grumbled about nobility and starvation, Veyl's decision resonated with him. It was a decision borne out of desperation, hope, and the stubborn belief that even in a world turned to shit, one could still carve out a future.

As the rain continued its relentless drumbeat on the roof and the fire crackled in the pit, Veyl felt a flicker of certainty amid the chaos. The world outside was dangerous and uncertain, but for now, with the priest by his side, there was a chance—no matter how slim—that he could change his fate.

Chapter 03: The Choice

Veyl felt an overwhelming despair. He recalled the tavern's prompt about that "follower," and it seemed that the second quest was all about that. So he carefully read through the details.

Side Quest 1: Recruit a FollowerDescription: Three lost travelers, wandering in the thick mist, are now being guided by the gods as they head toward your sanctuary.Content: This is a little test from the divine—a fated encounter with these three. However, one of them will end up killing you. Choose the right person and convince him to stay with you.As a lord, the ability to make choices and recruit allies is the very essence of leadership. And in this world, where the mist hides everything, your sanctuary desperately needs someone like that. You only get one chance—don't screw it up!Of course, if you can't make a choice, you're free to let them all go.Reward: According to your own words, you're about to take over a branch of the "God of Sanctuary." So if you want to secure His first investment, you better start by recruiting a reliable core team.The god is watching you, but He still doubts whether a faithless wretch like you can keep the sanctuary safe...

Veyl muttered to himself, "I wouldn't be surprised if you picked the wrong person…" The sight of those red dots—though unmarked—had him uneasy. They were moving, and some of the clusters were shifting fast; they might well be a pack of wolves. Maybe he could come up with some plan to handle those brain-dead zombies... but those cunning wolves—just one or two of them could end his sorry ass.

"Even though this recruitment task looks like a total scam, I'm already at the end of my rope—there's no time to hesitate. I have to keep at least one person," Veyl thought, shaking his head. "That first bit of cash is hard to come by, and a free opportunity like this isn't worth giving up even if there's danger!"

No matter what their strength, an extra person means extra hope. Veyl believed that among these travelers he might find a few clues to help him make the right decision.

Just then, Veyl noticed something odd—the time display above the tavern suddenly changed to a big "?" and then the tavern's front door was gently pushed open. The wind and rain howled outside, and in the flickering light of the bonfire, a tall figure strode into the room.

From the graceful curves of her silhouette it was clear that the hooded figure was a woman. As she pulled back her hood, she revealed long, slightly curled, purple-black hair and eyes as deep and blue as the ocean. After entering, she casually shot a cold glance in Veyl's direction before silently extending her hand. Almost immediately, the fire in the pit blazed up more vigorously.

Without a word, the woman then moved to the window and stared out at the torrential rain, standing perfectly still—as if she were waiting for the downpour to subside so she could set off on her journey. Veyl squinted and noticed a few lines of notes hovering around her, almost like a character sheet:

  "A lonely, haughty, mysterious witch…"  Specialty: Stabbing and rolling her eyes.  Monologue: 'How the hell did I end up here?'"  Other info: (With the current capabilities of the sanctuary, you can't glean more details from her.)

Ignoring that irritating little note he almost wanted to snark about, Veyl mused, "A witch… a lot of folks say witches are evil, maybe even tied to the mist… I don't yet know the full truth about this world, so I can't say if she's wicked or not. But she sure doesn't seem easy to talk to."He decided to keep quiet and watch her carefully from a distance.

Before he could settle his thoughts, the door was pushed open again. This time, a frail old man clad in a white clerical robe entered. From the style of his robe, Veyl instantly recognized his identity—a high priest, one of the great clerics!

"Don't be nervous," the old man said in a kindly tone, "I'm just a lost traveler like you, taking shelter from the rain."The priest gave Veyl a brief, gentle glance. Compared to the witch, he exuded a more polite, warm aura—a look that could instill strength in anyone's heart. After casting a few glances at the witch, the priest withdrew his gaze and, deep in thought, settled into a corner to rest.

The notes on him read:  "A steadfast and devout high priest."  Specialty: Smashing durians with bare hands."  Monologue: 'Why hasn't the mist swept over here?'"  Other info: (With the sanctuary's current abilities, you can't extract further information from him.)

Seeing that "durian-smashing" specialty made Veyl think that maybe the church's power was really divided up by such bizarre skills… He shook his head and dismissed those trivialities. "At least this guy's demeanor is a lot better than that bitch of a witch. I might be able to find a way to talk to him," he reasoned.

The sudden appearance of these two formidable travelers sparked a glimmer of hope in Veyl's heart. Moreover, the high priest seemed as if he had been sent by the gods to help him. If he could somehow convince the priest that the God of Sanctuary was watching over this place, maybe he could persuade him to stay. Yet, that priest's inner monologue left Veyl with an inexplicable, odd feeling.

Before he could delve any deeper into those thoughts, the door was slammed open with force. In strode an immensely tall and intimidating figure—a big bald man with a menacing look and a gruesome scar across his face. He bent low as he entered, and without wasting time, he plopped himself down at a table. With a furious thump, he began slamming his hand on the table and bellowed at Veyl, "Get me some food, bartender!"His voice was so rough and intimidating that it even dislodged dust from the beams overhead. A few clumps of dust fell onto the witch's hair—she shuddered slightly but didn't fuss with her pristine white hands, as if nothing had happened, stubbornly maintaining her mysterious aura.

Veyl, meanwhile, was busy stirring the potatoes in the fire pit with a wooden stick. He ignored the big bald brute for now, secretly hoping that the loudmouth might make a move that would break the deadlock. If a new "plot" could be triggered, then by observing the actions of these three in the coming moments, he might glean more useful information.

Glancing sidelong at the hot-tempered bald guy, Veyl noted the accompanying description:

  "A hungry, destitute wandering mercenary…"  Specialty: Can eat like a damn machine."  Monologue: 'Don't touch me, or I'll lay you out flat!'"  Other info: (Not available.)

Just then, a line of text suddenly appeared above the fire pit:  "You have only one chance to speak—once you choose to interact with one person, the others will leave."

At that moment, the hot-headed bald guy hadn't yet done anything over the top. Instead, after noticing that the "bartender" wasn't paying him any mind, he turned his gaze to the deliberately toyed-with potatoes and started drooling. This left Veyl both speechless and a little disappointed.

Once more, silence settled over the tavern. The three newcomers remained motionless, each absorbed in his own business, while the relentless rain outside continued to pelt the building, ensuring the tavern wasn't completely quiet. Veyl casually speared a potato with his stick and began to eat it in a slow, deliberate manner.

Only one of the three reacted—the big bald guy furtively rummaged through his empty pockets and muttered, "Geez… when a normal person is starving, do they really start worrying about whether they've got cash on hand when faced with a meal?!"Veyl couldn't help but think, "This guy's brain must be missing a string!" Shaking his head, he pondered the situation.

The contrast was striking: the high priest didn't seem like he'd turn into a wolf at the drop of a hat, while that idiot might very well end up killing himself over food. As for the witch… she looked like someone who would be damn near impossible to persuade. Still, Veyl's eyes couldn't help but glance at her—her hair was still matted with cobwebs and dust. Internally, he grumbled about the stark contrast between her refined exterior and her shabby condition, thinking that both she and the buffoon were equally peculiar. In the end, he decided to completely ignore her—she had no reason to stick with a broke lord like him.

"Let's put aside all other concerns. Among these three, I have zero confidence in persuading the witch, so I'll cast her aside. That leaves me with a choice between the devout high priest and the big bald guy. The answer is obvious."Finally, Veyl fixed his gaze on the high priest, about to speak, but a strange, inexplicable sensation held him back. Perhaps he was just too damn hungry—after a moment, the high priest pulled out some rations from his bag and began to eat slowly, as if deep in thought. He didn't even offer a prayer before his meal, nor did he thank the gods for this patch of peace amid the storm.

Suddenly, Veyl's eyes widened in realization. He finally remembered why that priest's inner monologue had given him such a weird vibe. Believers and the faithful are the kind who are prone to self-hypnosis—they can connect anything with divine miracles. And here he was, a guy who'd stumbled into this mess without any real faith, starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate had given him a break! That is, unless he was a hardened non-believer—or unless he wasn't even following the God of Sanctuary.

"So who the hell does he actually believe in?!" Veyl thought as he looked at the old, yet impeccably clean, clerical robe on the priest. He was sure this was a follower of the God of Sanctuary. Veyl knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions based solely on appearances, but he couldn't help the thought gnawing at him.

Suddenly, a wave of panic surged through him. The entire tavern seemed to be shrouded in an impenetrable mist, and his vision blurred into uncertainty. He strained his eyes, trying desperately to see the three figures through the haze. But every time he looked, they all appeared differently, and he couldn't quite make them out. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he was about to lose his mind.

At that moment, another line of text appeared above the fire pit:  "The rain is nearly easing—but your time is running out."

Without any further hesitation, Veyl grabbed a handful of potatoes from the fire pit and lobbed them toward the mercenary. With a hint of reluctance in his voice, he barked, "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by a couple of heads—if he ever tries to snatch food from me again, one punch will knock him the hell out! And come on, you think I can't hustle an idiot?!"He still hadn't figured out who exactly was the one the god had spoken of, but in the end, he decided to let fate be in his own hands. He believed that even if the god saw a certain future, he could change it. And if both of these guys turned out to be scumbags, then reforming a bandit was a hell of a lot easier than reforming a cultist!

The big bald guy scooped up the potatoes from the floor without a care about whether they were scalding, shoving them into his mouth whole. Moments later, his eyes widened, and he looked at Veyl with an expression that was almost pitiable. Veyl's eyebrows twitched as he watched the potatoes burn in the fire pit, feeling a stab of pain in his heart. Yet, he also felt a sense of reassurance—this idiot was no actor.

He then tossed another five or six potatoes, which the bald guy devoured one after another. The mercenary, once "about to starve," now looked roughly thirty percent full. Finally, Veyl ended up tossing every single potato he had into the mercenary's waiting maw. After the big bald guy finished them all, he let out a small burp. The little note attached to him now read something like "the poorly fed, hapless wandering mercenary."

Veyl's lips twitched into a grim smile. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret about having chosen this follower... yet he quickly steeled himself and said, "Listen, friend, this world is a fucked-up mess. We need to stick together and keep each other warm if we're going to survive. I might not have much food here, but it'll last for a while. Besides, out in the good fields beyond my territory, there's plenty of grain waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around just for a scrap of food—why not stay here and share a roof with me?"

Veyl spoke as if his domain were already teeming with people, painting grand visions with his words. The titles "lord" and "noble" might mean something only to the illiterate feudal simpletons nowadays. In truth, even he wasn't sure how much food was really being grown outside—after all, this so-called "Johannesburg" used to be all about grapes…

"Are you really a noble? A lord here?" the mercenary scoffed as he eyed Veyl, clearly unconvinced. But somehow, the words "noble" and "lord" seemed to have an effect on him.

Veyl's heart skipped a beat as he replied, "Of course—pretending to be a noble is a capital offense! My name is Veyl William, and every other lord around here knows my name and my father's name."The mercenary retorted, "But you look even more shabby than I do. I swear, if I stick with you, I'm gonna starve." His tone dripped with disdain."Damn it, aren't you the one who's supposed to be good with a blade? And you don't exactly look like a bright spark either!" Veyl muttered under his breath, feeling a mix of frustration and melancholy.It seemed that even an idiot like him didn't want to stick with a broke lord like Veyl!

In the end, Veyl decided, "Forget everything else for now. Of these three, I can't see myself convincing the witch, so I'll cast her aside. Now it's a choice between the devout high priest and the big bald guy. The answer is obvious."He finally fixed his gaze on the high priest, about to speak—but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake off that weird feeling inside. Perhaps it was hunger. The high priest nonchalantly took some dry rations from his bag and began eating, seemingly lost in thought. He didn't even mutter a prayer before eating, nor did he thank the gods for granting him this small haven amid the storm…

Suddenly, Veyl's eyes shot wide open. He finally understood why the high priest's internal monologue had given him such an odd vibe. Believers and followers—those types of folks prone to self-hypnosis—tend to link everything with miracles. And here he was, a man without any true faith, who'd stumbled into this mess by sheer chance, now beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the heavens had taken pity on him! Unless, of course, he was one of those hardened non-believers—or someone who doesn't even worship the God of Sanctuary.

"So who the hell does he worship?!" Veyl thought as he looked at the slightly worn but immaculate robe on the priest. He was convinced that this was a true believer in the God of Sanctuary. Deep down, he knew he shouldn't jump to conclusions based solely on appearances, yet the thought gnawed at him relentlessly.

Abruptly, a sense of panic overtook him. The entire tavern seemed to be suddenly veiled in mist, and his vision turned hazy. He strained his eyes to peer through the fog at the three figures, but each time his view shifted, they all appeared differently—he couldn't seem to fully discern any of them! Frustrated and on the verge of insanity, he grabbed his hair, feeling as if he was losing his mind.

Just then, another line of text flickered into existence above the fire pit:  "The rain is almost easing—your time is running out."

No longer hesitating, Veyl hurled the potatoes from the fire pit toward the mercenary (with a hint of reluctant affection in his tone): "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by two heads—if he ever tries to snatch food from me again, one punch is all it'll take to knock him out! Come on now, you think I can't hustle an idiot?"

In the end, he still hadn't figured out who exactly was the one the god mentioned… but he resolved to leave the course of events in his own hands. He believed that even if the god foresaw some inevitable future, he could still change it. And if these two turned out to be nothing but crooks, then reforming a thug would be a hell of a lot easier than trying to change a cultist!

The big bald guy picked up the tossed potatoes from the floor, not caring whether they were scorching hot, and shoved them straight into his mouth. Moments later, his eyes widened and he stared at Veyl with an expression that was almost pitiable. Veyl's brow twitched as he watched the smoldering potatoes in the fire pit, feeling as if his heart was bleeding. Yet, despite the pang, he also felt a sense of reassurance—this idiot was no actor.

He continued tossing another five or six potatoes, which the bald guy promptly devoured. The mercenary, once "about to starve," now appeared roughly thirty percent full. Finally, Veyl ended up chucking every single potato he had into the mercenary's open mouth. After the bald guy finished his impromptu feast, he let out a small, satisfied burp, and the little note attached to him now read something like "the poorly fed, down-on-his-luck wandering mercenary."

Veyl's lips twitched into a grim smile. For a moment, he regretted his choice of follower—but then he steeled himself and said, "Listen, friend, this world is a complete shitshow. We need to stick together to keep warm if we're gonna survive. I might not have much to eat here, but it's enough for a while. And outside my territory, in the fertile fields, there's plenty of food waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around just for a scrap—why not stay here and share my roof?"

Veyl spoke as if his domain were already teeming with people, his words painting a grand vision. As for being a lord or a noble, in times like these those titles might only sway the illiterate, feudal simpletons. In truth, even he wasn't exactly sure how much food was grown outside—after all, this "Johannesburg" used to be all about grapes…

"Really, you're a noble? A lord around here?" the mercenary grumbled, eyeing Veyl with obvious skepticism. Yet, words like "noble" and "lord" seemed to work on him, however slightly.

Veyl's heart skipped a beat as he replied, "Of course—pretending to be a noble is a capital offense! I am Veyl William, and all the other lords around here know both my name and my father's."The mercenary scoffed, "But you look even more pathetic than I do. I swear, if I stick with you, I'm gonna starve to death." His tone reeked of disdain."Damn it, aren't you supposed to be the one who's good with a knife? And you don't exactly look like you've got much brain either!" Veyl muttered under his breath, a bitter mix of anger and regret rising within him.It seemed that not even a simpleton like this would want to stick with a broke lord like Veyl!

In the end, Veyl decided, "Forget about everything else—of these three, I'm pretty sure I can't win over the witch, so I'll cast her aside. That leaves me with a choice between the devout high priest and the big bald guy. The answer is obvious."He finally fixed his gaze on the high priest, ready to speak—but deep inside, he couldn't shake off a nagging, odd sensation. Perhaps it was hunger. The high priest nonchalantly took out some dry rations from his bag and began to eat slowly, seemingly weighed down by his own thoughts. He didn't even offer a pre-meal prayer or thank the gods for this brief respite in the midst of the torrential rain…

Suddenly, Veyl's eyes widened in realization. He finally understood why that priest's monologue had given him such a strange, unsettling feeling. Believers and the faithful are the sort who tend to hypnotize themselves into linking everything with divine miracles. And here he was—a man without any true faith, stumbling through the mist—beginning to wonder if maybe fate had shown him a bit of mercy! Unless, of course, he was one of those hardened non-believers, or perhaps his faith wasn't even in the God of Sanctuary.

"So who the hell does he worship?!" Veyl thought, glancing at the worn yet impeccably clean robes of the priest, convinced that he was indeed a follower of the God of Sanctuary. Deep down, Veyl knew he shouldn't base his judgment solely on appearances, yet he couldn't shake the thought from his mind.

Then, suddenly, panic surged through him. The entire tavern seemed to become cloaked in a thick, disorienting mist, and his vision turned murky. He strained to peer at the three figures through the haze, but every time he looked, they appeared different, as if shrouded in an ever-changing fog. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fully decipher who they were! Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair, feeling like he was on the brink of madness.

At that moment, another line of text flashed above the fire pit:  "The rain is almost easing—your time is running out."

Without further hesitation, Veyl hurled the remaining potatoes from the fire pit toward the mercenary (even though he felt a pang of reluctance), exclaiming, "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by two heads—if he ever dares to grab food from me again, one punch is all it'll take to knock him out! But come on, you think I can't hustle an idiot, do I?!"

In the end, he still hadn't quite figured out who exactly was the one the god mentioned… but he resolved to take matters into his own hands. He believed that even if the god foresaw a grim future, he could still change it. And if these two turn out to be nothing but lowlifes, reforming a bandit would be a hell of a lot easier than trying to change a cultist!

The big bald guy stooped down, picked up the scattered potatoes without a care for whether they were scalding hot, and stuffed them into his mouth. Moments later, he widened his eyes and stared at Veyl with an expression that was almost pitiful. Veyl's eyebrows twitched as he watched the remnants of the fire's offerings, feeling as if his heart were bleeding. Yet, a small sense of relief washed over him—this idiot was no actor.

He tossed another five or six potatoes, which the bald guy promptly gobbled down. The mercenary, who had been on the brink of starvation just moments before, now looked roughly thirty percent full. Finally, Veyl ended up chucking every last potato he had into the mercenary's waiting mouth. Once the big bald guy finished his impromptu feast, he let out a tiny burp, and the little note attached to him now read something like "the underfed, down-on-his-luck wandering mercenary."

Veyl's lips twitched into a grim smile. Part of him regretted choosing this follower, but he quickly steeled himself and said, "Listen, friend, this world is a total shitshow. We need to stick together to keep warm if we're gonna survive. I might not have much food here, but it'll keep you going for a while. Plus, out in the fertile fields beyond my domain, there's plenty of food waiting to be harvested. You've been wandering around for a scrap—why not stay here under my roof?"

He spoke as if his territory were already bustling with people, his words painting grand visions. As for being a lord or noble, in these times, those titles might only matter to illiterate, feudal simpletons. In truth, even Veyl wasn't sure exactly how much food was grown outside—after all, the land around "Johannesburg" used to be all about grapes…

"Really, you're a noble? A lord around here?" the mercenary scoffed, eyeing Veyl with utter disbelief. Yet somehow, the words "noble" and "lord" still managed to have an effect on him.

Veyl's heart pounded as he said, "Of course—pretending to be a noble is a capital offense! I am Veyl William, and every other lord around here knows both my name and my father's."The mercenary replied with disdain, "But you look even more pathetic than I do. I swear, if I stick with you, I'm gonna starve to death.""Fuck, aren't you supposed to be the one who's good with a blade? And you sure as hell don't look like you've got much brain either!" Veyl muttered bitterly, feeling both frustrated and downhearted.It seemed that not even a dumbass like him wanted to stick with a broke lord like Veyl!

In the end, Veyl resolved, "Forget all the other crap—for these three, I have zero confidence in persuading the witch, so I'll cut her loose. That leaves me with a choice between the devout high priest and the big bald guy. The answer is as clear as day."He finally fixed his gaze on the high priest, ready to speak—but deep inside, an inexplicable, unsettling feeling held him back. Perhaps he was simply too hungry. The high priest nonchalantly took out some dry rations from his bag and resumed eating, as if lost in thought. He didn't even pause to say a prayer or thank the gods for granting him this small sanctuary amid the deluge…

At that moment, Veyl's eyes flared with sudden understanding. He finally remembered why that priest's inner monologue had given him such a weird vibe. Devotees and believers are the kind who, under self-hypnosis, link every little thing to divine miracles. And here he was—a man without any true faith, stumbling into this mess by sheer chance—beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the heavens had shown him a bit of mercy! Unless he was one of those hardcore non-believers, or unless his faith wasn't even in the God of Sanctuary.

"So who the hell does he worship then?!" Veyl thought as he stared at the slightly faded, yet impeccably clean, clerical robe of the priest—sure as hell a follower of the God of Sanctuary. Deep down, Veyl knew he shouldn't make snap judgments based solely on appearances, but he just couldn't shake the thought.

Then, out of nowhere, panic surged through him. The entire tavern seemed to be suddenly enveloped in a thick, disorienting mist, and his vision blurred into confusion. He strained his eyes, trying desperately to peer through the haze at the three figures—but every time he looked, they all appeared different, as if cloaked in an ever-shifting fog. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pin them down! Frustrated to the point of madness, he grabbed his hair, feeling as if he were about to lose his mind.

At that exact moment, another line of text burst into view above the fire pit:  "The rain is almost easing—your time is running out."

Without a moment's hesitation, Veyl flung the remaining potatoes from the fire pit at the mercenary (with a trace of reluctant fondness in his tone), exclaiming, "This guy's taller than Yao Ming by two heads—if he ever tries to snatch my food again, one punch is all it takes to knock him out! But come on, you think I can't hustle an idiot, do I?!"

In the end, Veyl still couldn't figure out exactly who the one was that the god had spoken of… yet he decided at last to leave the course of events in his own hands. He believed that even if the god foresaw a grim future, he could change it. And if these two turn out to be nothing more than lowlifes, reforming a bandit is a hell of a lot easier than trying to fix a cultist!

The big bald guy stooped down, picked up the scattered potatoes without a care for their heat, and shoved them into his mouth. Moments later, his eyes widened, and he looked at Veyl with a pitiful gaze. Veyl's brow twitched as he watched the smoldering remains in the fire pit, feeling as if his heart were bleeding. Yet, somehow, he also felt a measure of relief—this idiot was no poser.

He tossed another five or six potatoes, which the bald guy eagerly devoured. The mercenary, once on the brink of starvation, now looked roughly thirty percent full. Finally, Veyl ended up chucking every last potato he had into the mercenary's waiting mouth. After the big bald guy finished his impromptu feast, he let out a small burp, and the little note attached to him now read something like "the underfed, down-on-his-luck wandering mercenary."

Veyl's lips twitched into a grim smile. Though a part of him regretted recruiting this follower, he soon convinced himself otherwise: "Listen, friend, this world is a complete shitshow. We need to stick together to keep each other warm if we're gonna survive. I might not have much food here, but it'll last a while. And out in the fertile fields beyond my territory, there's plenty of grain waiting to be harvested. You've been roaming around for a scrap—why not stay here and share my roof?"

He spoke as though his domain were already bustling with people, his words painting grand promises. As for titles like lord and noble, in these desperate times they might only sway the illiterate, feudal simpletons. In truth, even Veyl wasn't sure how much food was grown outside—after all, this "Johannesburg" used to be all about grapes…

"Really, you're a noble? A lord here?" the mercenary sneered, clearly unconvinced as he eyed Veyl. Yet, somehow, the words "noble" and "lord" still had an effect on him.

Veyl's heart pounded as he said, "Of course—pretending to be a noble is a capital offense! I am Veyl William, and every other lord around here knows my name and my father's."The mercenary replied with a scoff, "But you look even more pathetic than I do. I swear, if I stick with you, I'm gonna starve.""Fuck, aren't you supposed to be the one good at stabbing? And you sure as hell don't look like you've got much brain either!" Veyl muttered under his breath, feeling both frustrated and deeply disheartened.It seemed that even an idiot like him wouldn't want to stick with a broke lord like Veyl!

And so, with a heavy heart, Veyl made his decision. Though he hadn't quite figured out who exactly was the one the god mentioned, he resolved to take control of his own destiny. He believed that, even if the god saw a certain future, he could change it. If both these guys turned out to be nothing but scumbags, then reforming a lowlife was far easier than trying to change a damn cultist.

The big bald guy, having gathered the scattered potatoes, didn't care whether they were hot—he simply stuffed them into his mouth. Moments later, he stared at Veyl with an expression that, surprisingly, seemed a bit pitiable. Veyl's heart ached as he watched the meager meal in the fire pit, yet he felt a steadiness settling over him. This fool was clearly genuine.

He tossed five or six more potatoes, which the bald guy quickly devoured, turning him from a man on the brink of starvation to someone about thirty percent full. In one fell swoop, Veyl hurled every single potato into the mercenary's waiting mouth. After finishing his impromptu feast, the big bald guy let out a small burp, and the note attached to him now read something like "the underfed, hapless wandering mercenary."

Veyl's lips twitched in a grim smile as he surveyed the scene. Although he felt a pang of regret about recruiting this follower, he quickly steeled his resolve and said, "Friend, this world is fucked up to the core. We need to stick together, share our warmth, and survive. I might not have a ton of food here, but it's enough for a spell. And out there, beyond my domain, the fertile fields hold plenty of harvest waiting for us. You've been wandering just for a scrap—why not stay here and share my roof?"

Thus, with a heavy heart and reluctant hope, Veyl pressed on, letting fate take its course—believing that even if the god had seen some grim future, he could still alter it. And if one of these two scumbags turned out to be the right one, then maybe he could at least salvage something from this fucked-up world.