Sense of danger and sainthood

Thus, Kyle set out with the group of women, the sun now high in the sky, half a day having passed since they left the goblin village. The forest was unnaturally quiet—so quiet that not a single beast had been drawn to their group.

As they made their way toward the village, Kyle tried to speak with them, to learn of their origins or anything about them. But there was no response to be had. They were like living corpses, wandering spirits circling him with dead eyes that neither saw nor blinked.

Kyle sighed and let out a long exhale, rubbing his forehead slowly in an attempt to ease the headache that was beginning to squeeze his skull. Cold beads of sweat trickled down his temple.

"By the heavens… what have I gotten myself into?"

He blamed himself; he hadn't done this out of kindness but because he'd wanted to test his strength against the goblins. If his heart weren't so cold, he wouldn't have cared for these half-dead women in the first place.

He slowly turned his head and looked back. He saw them trudging along at a sick turtle's pace compared to his usual stride. Sunlight reflected off their bodies, covered in tattered rags that revealed the bones beneath—bones that stirred a heavy pity in his chest like a stone pressing down.

"Could the Temple of Life heal them?"

But the hope was slim. This wasn't a temple in a grand city, but rather a small one in a border village at the forest's edge—there would be no great priest or blessed lady in charge, but more likely an old man or an elderly woman who knew a few cleansing and healing charms.

He pictured an old priest, worn features and a white beard, shaking his head regretfully beneath a simple wooden roof.

"Ah… this will be really difficult."

Suddenly, a cold thought flashed through his mind: Why should he even bother with this journey? Why not leave them here to find their own way?

He shook his head quickly as if to swat away an annoying fly. He caught the scent of damp earth around him, and a light breeze brushed his cheek, restoring a bit of focus.

As his mind drifted, he noticed how exhaustion was eating away at the women's bodies. Their steps faltered, shoulders drooping bit by bit like feeble branches under a heavy rain.

"This is to be expected… in the end, they're ordinary women, tortured for who knows how long."

Kyle stopped abruptly, and they stopped behind him like silent reflections. He slowly turned toward them, and they lifted their heads as if noticing his presence for the first time, their glassy eyes glinting in the forest's dim light.

"All right… we'll rest for half an hour, then continue on."

They didn't answer, but some exchanged faint looks before nodding with a strange, submissive docility.

"Good… Number One, come here and distribute the food and water."

The woman he had rescued first stepped forward—she was the oldest and the most composed, despite her pale face and cracked lips. She took the food and water from Kyle and began to hand it out to the other women with hands trembling like withered leaves.

Kyle watched them, feeling a small measure of relief seep in. At least they were still capable of following simple orders. As for calling them by numbers instead of names, he had no other option; he didn't know their names and needed some means of communication—though it could hardly be called that.

He sat beneath a dense tree, leaning his back against its rough trunk. He stretched his knees out and extended his legs before him as he unwrapped his food. The scent of dried meat and hard bread mingled with the smell of damp earth and the sweat of the road.

"Honestly… this kind of gathering doesn't suit me…"

He cast a glance at the women: some sat on the hard ground, picking up crumbs with frail fingers, eyes staring into nothingness. His beloved solitude suddenly felt less comforting; he needed solitude, but he also needed hands to work with him so he could focus on his training and his goals.

"Maybe I really should recruit some followers… But the problem isn't gathering them—it's their loyalty. I don't want word of me to spread everywhere like wildfire."

As the thoughts swirled in his head, his mind drifted to the slave market.

"It's possible… Buying slaves would mean they come with a slavery seal, so they couldn't betray or disobey my orders. And with my Evaluation and Investment Eye, I might find slaves with hidden potential that their chains never let them show."

His features hardened slightly, a faint hesitation pressing on his chest.

"Though I hate slavery… I can't change this world alone. Here, it's normal… not like my old world, where the age of slaves ended only to birth new slaveries: the internet, money, addiction…"

He bit his lip slightly and closed his eyes.

"At least, when I truly plant loyalty in them, I'll free them from the bonds of slavery. That's the best I can do."

With that thought, he let out a deep sigh, unaware that the days to come would bring him followers who would worship him with blind fanaticism.

Suddenly, he remembered something. He opened his eyes and stared into the empty air before him:

"Dawn Academy allows the top ten ranks to bring followers. That applies to me too… A perfect chance to gather followers and train them myself, and to show my talent to the world. Those top ranks have invaluable privileges."

He opened and closed his hand slowly as he watched dust motes dance in the sunlight filtering through the branches.

"This will be useful when I return to House Liothan. More resources… better guidance… secret places no one else dares enter. Yes… I'll need all of that to reach the Legendary Rank… even if I don't yet know why."

He reached out and picked up a rough, folded map beside him, studied it for a moment, then exhaled lightly. For a moment, the forest seemed to echo his breath with a faint groan among its branches.

Half an hour passed. Kyle stood up, brushed the dust from his clothes, then gestured with his hand. The women moved behind him like silent shadows, continuing their march toward the forest's edge.

---

As they pushed their way through the shadows of the trees, faint green lights flickered from the thick underbrush. Had someone looked closely, they would have seen eyes… the eyes of wolves—a whole pack, watching with cunning and ferocity.

These wolves knew of Kyle's reputation as a lord of death in human form. But that did not deter them; they saw him accompanied by a group of weak females—a feast too good to pass up. The pack had not yet decided to attack; it waited for night to cast its veil.

Kyle, who was walking, felt a heavy weight clutch at his heart. A chill ran down his back, thanks to his trait: Danger Sense.

His blood-red eyes slowly swept beneath his lashes, giving no sign of awareness so as not to warn his unseen foe.

"Looks like someone's lying in wait… I'd better stay alert."

Through Danger Sense, he knew how bad the injury could be—but once he prepared, he could tilt the balance entirely.

"But the question is… who? Beasts? Goblins? Or did someone discover the goblin village's fate and set this trap to kill me?"

His mind spun like a whirlpool, but no clear answer came.

---

At that moment, in the village Kyle was heading for, preparations were in full swing to receive an esteemed guest. The streets were decorated with colorful ribbons, and the villagers wore their best clean, bright clothes.

Strangely, this village looked remarkably clean—well-paved roads, neatly lined houses, and at its center a grand building with pristine white walls surrounded by a small, meticulously kept orchard. This was the Temple of Life. Children ran among the flowers, their laughter filling the air, while elders chatted with calm, content faces.

In front of the temple was a well that quenched the entire village's thirst, surrounded by a wall five meters high and half a meter thick. Not a great wall like those of cities, but fitted with magical circles to activate a protective barrier if needed. Local militias patrolled the village, some watching the walls with sharp eyes.

At the village gate stood two rows of guards. Beside them sat a large drum and a horn waiting for the right moment to be blown.

In the distance, a cloud of dust appeared, drawing closer. One guard spotted it and signaled to his comrade, who swiftly moved toward the gate. Moments later, the drum's deep beat echoed through the village, followed by the horn's shrill cry slicing the sky.

As soon as the villagers heard the signal, they hurried to the main street, awaiting the promised guest.

The dust cloud drew closer until the procession emerged: a hundred soldiers in gleaming armor bearing an emblem of a bird flying with a green branch in its beak. Their horses were strong, lifting their hooves confidently above the ground.

In the center of the procession was a grand carriage drawn by four pure white horses, a flag fluttering above it bearing the same symbol: the emblem of the Temple of Life, the symbol of hope and prosperity for all in the Kingdom of Astalia. Beside the carriage rode a knight on a white horse, his ornate armor gleaming and his cloak billowing in the wind. It was clear he was a man of great power and status.

As for the one inside the carriage—they were not yet visible. But as the procession neared the village, cries of welcome rose from the people's lips:

"Praise the Saintess!"

"Praise the Saintess!"

The procession advanced with stately calm toward the heart of the village, as the dust slowly settled behind it…