Chapter 7- Unexpected Blessing

They were teleported to the city of Cael Lorinth—a heavily militarized border city in the southern reaches of the Kingdom of Highmere.

Positioned just north of Oris Mons, the city marks the final outpost before entering the war-torn, contested zone that separates Highmere from the lizardmen's territory, the Drakmire Marshland.

The war in Oris Mons was a brutal, three-year campaign fought across mountains, plains, and crumbling fortresses. Multiple fronts erupted at once, with territory constantly shifting hands.

Now that the fighting has ended, Cael Lorinth is shifting into recovery. Wounded soldiers fill its infirmaries, captured enemy commanders are being processed, and the city begins the long, uncertain road to rebuilding.

Cael Lorinth's iron-reinforced walls stood thick and unyielding, manned day and night by veteran soldiers hardened by years of war. Watchtowers ringed the city's edge, their beacons ready to flare at the first sign of danger. At its center rose Fort Cael—a broad, square keep that served as both command hub and final refuge should the outer defenses fall.

The city's layout reflected its purpose. Rows of barracks, sparring yards, and blacksmith forges filled the districts closest to the walls. Wide stone streets allowed for swift movement of troops and supply wagons, which came and went in a constant rhythm—carrying food, weapons, and fresh reinforcements.

And yet, life endured. Civilians lived alongside soldiers—tough, disciplined people shaped by years of war.

"What even is Mr. Zero?!" Ludwig barked, clearly pissed. He slammed his hand against the wall, the wood creaking under the sudden impact.

They'd been standing outside the tavern for most of the afternoon, still caught up in the same argument. While other players had already dispersed into the world, eager to begin whatever quests or paths awaited them, Yor and Ludwig were still here—locked in a back-and-forth over one question:

Was there really a fourteenth god?

The tavern behind them buzzed with voices and the occasional clink of mugs. Warm light spilled from its windows onto the cobbled street, and the wooden sign overhead—Old Barney Tavern—swayed gently in the breeze.

"It's an anime!" Yor shot back, shoulders tense. "From like... fifty years ago! I used to watch it with my grandpa."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. "If he knows about that, then he's not a god. He's probably just some dude who hacked the system or something."

Yor looked away. After what happened in The Benediction, the moment still sat heavy on his chest. He didn't ask to be chosen—definitely not by some troll pretending to be god.

"I say report it. Maybe it was a glitch..." Ludwig said, his fingers twitching, itching to open his menu. "I just wanna know how many gods are actually supposed to exist here. I'll ask Winter."

He swiped his hand through the air—his menu flickered to life as a translucent rectangle. A few taps later, a shimmer of light formed in front of them, condensing into a tiny floating figure. It was Winter, the game's guide—not much bigger than Ludwig's hand, like a holographic figurine.

"Hi, Winter!" Ludwig greeted her with an exaggeratedly sweet smile, bending slightly to meet her height.

"I wanna ask—how many gods are there in this world?"

Winter blinked. Her tone was flat. "Did you not count during the Benediction? There are thirteen gods. That's it."

"But he said he was the God of Reality!" Yor stepped forward, voice cracking a little. "Zeisen. He blessed me, I swear!"

Ludwig squinted. "Did you... take your meds today?"

Winter crossed her arms. "There is no such god. No Zeisen. No God of Reality. Just the thirteen."

"See?" Ludwig gestured dramatically.

Yor exhaled through his nose. "I saw the system message. It literally said, 'You have been blessed by the God of Reality, Zeisen.' I haven't even checked what he gave me yet."

"Then go on. Check your mail that's how blessings are delivered." Ludwig said.

"Looks like I'm not needed here. Call me if you need anything. See you later." Winter vanished into thin air.

"Bye-bye, Winter!" Ludwig grinned, giving a goofy wave.

But just as Winter vanished in a shimmer of light, a sudden jab hit Ludwig's side.

*Poke*

"The hell?!" He spun around, yelping in surprise.

A random player had poked him with a sword.

"Oh—sorry!" the player blurted, backing off. "Thought we couldn't PK here..."

Ludwig's face darkened. He slapped the guy upside the head. "Get the hell outta here, dumbass."

The player yelped and ran off.

Yor blinked. "That was... so random."

Ludwig rubbed his side. "Anyway. Back to business. Check your mail." He opened his own interface for comparison. "The gods send it through system mail. I already claimed mine—I got three Divine Tomes, 80 battle proficiency points and 400 status points."

"So, I still need 20 more points to reach Intermediate Mastery." Ludwig rested his hand on his chin.

"I'll check if he gave me anything good," Yor muttered.

He opened his mail. A floating window appeared. He tapped a few buttons—

and saw...

"Nothing!" he shouted, half in shock, half in disbelief.

"That's impossible. You should see it in your mail," Ludwig said, leaning in to guide him.

Yor scanned his menu, scrolled through everything—mail, notifications, inventory—nothing. The last thing left to check... was his status.

He opened the status window.

---

[Yor]

Strength: +200

Dexterity: +400

Vitality: +100

Intellect: +300

Agility: +400

Constitution: +100

---

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Ludwig's jaw dropped. "Yor, you're a monster. Now you've really gotta put that to good use."

Yor was frozen—shivers ran down his spine.

Is this a bug?

My brain doesn't believe it… but my eyes say otherwise.

"I say don't report it," Ludwig said flatly. "Just help your mom."

"That's... that's not fair," Yor whispered, then sank down onto the rough, cobbled stone. His limbs felt weak, heavy with disbelief.

"It's not like you're using it to grief other players," Ludwig said. "Life's never been fair anyway. You're always the one trying—finding ways to make things work. Your dad's an alcoholic, your mom's bedridden... and meanwhile, other people get to live without a care."

He sighed, voice quieter now.

"Maybe this is life throwing you a bone. It's not much, but you can actually use this—to make money, to survive. Or are you really gonna sit there and say, 'It's unfair, I won't use it,' while your mom's bedridden?"

"This is the biggest game in the world right now—hundreds of millions of players! You won't find a better way to make money, man."

"You could finally afford to get your mom the treatment she needs."

"Now stand up. We're heading to the nearest church."

Ludwig grabbed Yor under the arms and helped him to his feet.

They wandered through the street, asking NPCs for directions.

"Excuse me, could you tell us where the nearest church is?" Ludwig asked politely.

He had stopped a frail old man—his back hunched, leaning heavily on a wooden walking stick. Each breath he took sounded like it might be his last.

"The church, huh…" the old man rasped. "Been a long time since I thought about that place. Back during the Great Kingdom War, I served as a knight. But I'll tell you now—it wasn't easy."

He paused, eyes distant.

"I got real sad when my friend died. Shot through the head by a pretty elf woman. Funny thing is, he used to say if he couldn't be rich, at least he wanted to die at the hands of a beautiful elf. Guess he got his wish."

He chuckled, then added, "I stopped believing in the gods after that. Haven't been to the church in years. Forgot where it even is. Might remember… if you get me a cigarette."

Ludwig frowned. "Cigarette? Old man, you can barely breathe. One wrong swallow and you'll drop dead."

The old man laughed hoarsely. "Well then, I guess I'm not telling."

He hobbled off, laughing to himself, while Ludwig stood there silently—clearly irritated, his face stiff with restrained annoyance.

"My head's telling me to sweep your walking stick, but my heart says no."

Yor called out from across the street. He'd been asking other NPCs for directions while Ludwig dealt with the old man.

"Hey, Ludwig… I know where it is now."

The church was located west of where they stood—tucked away from the bustling parts of the city, in a place that wasn't easy to reach on foot. To save time, they hitched a ride on an empty supply wagon heading back to Gale Mores, another city within the Kingdom of Highmere known for being a major source of food and supplies.

"Thank you, sir!"

"Thanks!"

The wagon creaked as it rolled away, continuing on its route. The two of them turned their eyes toward the church—and were stunned by the sight.

It was massive. The entire structure bloomed like a colossal flower, with thirteen curved, petal-shaped roofs arching outward from a majestic central structure. From the heart of it rose a towering spire—tall and regal—flanked by two smaller spires on either side. Birds drifted near the highest point, tiny and distant, like flecks of dust in the sky.

Intricate carvings flowed along the outer walls, forming floral patterns that gleamed like sunlight piercing through clouds. The gold-and-white surface shimmered in the light, giving the entire church a divine, radiant presence.

"Cool! Lets get inside!" Ludwig said with excitement.

They stepped through the grand entrance and were greeted by a figure who seemed to serve as the church's guide.

He wore a long, navy blue coat with dark layered shoulder guards. The fabric flowed down to his boots, lined with subtle gold accents. A star-shaped clasp held his collar shut, and a slim belt cinched his waist, giving him a calm, distinguished presence.

"Good day, gentlemen. May I know your reason for visiting the church?" the guide asked politely.

"Oh yeah, hold on." Ludwig opened his inventory and retrieved three Divine Tomes.

"For this," he said, holding them up.

[Divine Tome]

[A sacred book granted by the gods, filled with raw magical essence waiting to be shaped.]

The Divine Tome had a cover made of dark, polished leather—smooth to the touch, yet impossibly durable. Intricate insignias were embossed across the surface, each one representing the god who bestowed it. Thin veins of gold traced along the spine and corners, forming elegant, flowing designs that glimmered faintly in the light.

"T-three?!"

"Excuse me." He cleared his throat. "You're another one of the lucky ones. And how many gods blessed you?"

"Seven," Ludwig said.

"Seven?!" the guide repeated, eyes wide.

"You've got the same— I mean, there was another girl who came here before. For Viseration."

"Viseration?" Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "Who made that up?"

"It's the process you're about to go through, right?" the guide replied, already turning. "Follow me."

They stepped into the grand hall of the church—a vast, open space that swallowed sound and stretched high above their heads. Their footsteps echoed across the stone floor, the only noise beneath the quiet weight of reverence.

Near the lobby, waist-high cubicles stood in neat rows, each with a narrow table where church servers tended to offerings. Lining the walls ahead were towering doors, each one engraved with a different god's insignia.

"We're here."

In front of them stood a tall door with a rectangular plaque mounted at eye level—etched with the symbol of an old-fashioned quill.

The room inside looked like a classroom—but there was no chalkboard, no teacher's desk. Instead, they saw two familiar faces—people they had once fought beside in the war at Oris Mons.

"The quills are on that desk near the window," he said, nodding in its direction as he stepped aside to let them pass.

"Yo," Ludwig greeted them.

"Hey!" a guy replied.

"Viseration too, huh? I'm stuck trying to imagine what kind of skill to make," one of the guys said. "I'm thinking something crazy, like... a skill that instantly kills anyone with infinite damage. Or maybe one where I just look at people and they drop dead."

The guide cleared his throat.

"Keep in mind—if you try to create an overpowered skill like that, the gods will impose a downside to maintain balance. And even if you try to counter it with another skill, I doubt they'd approve it."

"Oh..."

"Thank you for bringing us here," Ludwig said, giving a small salute.

He walked toward the desk with a glass full of quills and picked one up, his tomes resting in his other arm, pressed gently against his side.

The guide gave a small nod and walked away.

Ludwig and Yor took seats beside the two other guys.

"He's right, though," Ludwig said. "It's like in games—bosses with insta-kill mechanics always have a catch. There's usually a mark that warns you it's coming, it's triggered under certain conditions, has a long cooldown, or only has a low chance of hitting—stuff like that."

"I agree," one of the guys said with a nod.

"I gotta erase this stuff I wrote," the other muttered, frowning at his page.

"Yor, I need your help coming up with skills," Ludwig said.

Yor nodded and leaned in closer.

"What kind are you thinking? Something sneaky—like an assassin type or something?"

"Well, I kinda already have a vision."

Ludwig began scribbling in his tome. He drew a stick figure wearing a mask and holding a dagger, standing beneath a crooked tree that leaned awkwardly to one side.

Yor tilted his head, squinting.

"Is the tree tired?"

Ludwig didn't respond—he was too focused, adding a little line pointing at the stick figure with the word "invisible" written beside it.

Yor scratched his head.

"Umm… is that supposed to be you, or the enemy?"

Ludwig looked up at him, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"This is gonna be good."