Chapter Fifty: The Beginning

Above a small town, several hundred people made their way slowly across the earth. Because they were accompanied by prisoners and burdened with a wealth of spoils, their pace was unhurried, yet their ranks were orderly and dignified. At the very front of the procession, Ardis rode on horseback, moving at a measured pace. Beside him, Nadiel and several priests kept close company.

Ahead, a small group emerged to greet them, led by an elderly man. Dressed impeccably, his face was stern and dignified; upon seeing Ardis, he hastened forward with his retinue. “My lord!”

Ardis acknowledged them with a nod and dismounted. “Barton, take some men and tally up the spoils.”

The elder named Barton nodded in assent, then turned his gaze to the soldiers behind Ardis. Hundreds of them were pushing wooden carts, straining to move heavy chests filled with their hard-won plunder.

At Barton’s command, the chests were opened on the spot. One after another, the lids were thrown back, revealing their contents: bolts of cloth, sacks of grain, weapons, and a jumble of coins and valuables.

The coins were a motley collection—this world had yet to know a unified empire. Even the royal court’s authority was nominal at best, and every city-state issued its own currency, each with its own unique design. Some coins were minted from pure gold, even inlaid with traces of magical crystals, while others were nothing more than crude shells and trinkets, meager and unimpressive.

Finally, one last chest was opened. Its contents were scant but shimmered with a faint, alluring glow, captivating all who looked upon them.

These were magical beast crystals, gathered from the creatures they had encountered on their journey.

At the sight, old Barton’s face lit up with joy. “With these, if we can muster a party to head south, we’ll be able to equip another hundred men with weapons and leather armor at the very least.”

Yet he could not help but shake his head in mild regret. “Such a bounty—if only we could enjoy such spoils a few more times, our treasury would no longer be so strained.”

Ardis only shook his head. “This expedition has nearly wiped out every bandit and magical beast near our territory. To reap such rewards again, we’d have to raid other lords’ lands—and that is forbidden.”

Across from him, old Jedon, though equally regretful, refrained from comment at this.

“How have things been lately?” Ardis turned to another man.

This was a gaunt old priest, his eyes clouded as if on the verge of death. Yet seeing him, even Bill and the other priests by Ardis’s side lowered their heads in respect.

He addressed Ardis with reverence. “My lord, according to word from our followers, the king of Brook City-State to the north is gravely ill. It’s said he hasn’t seen his chamberlain in dozens of days, and rumor has it the princes are preparing a grand ceremony in hopes of restoring the king’s health.”

“At the same time, our own nobles here have caught wind of some news. Each is recruiting soldiers and laborers from their domains, and the air is thick with tension.”

Ardis nodded, silently attuning himself to the currents of fate that swirled around him. Above his head, thin wisps of white vapor gathered, coalescing into crimson—a sign of his fortune as heir to a viscount’s house and master of a town. Higher still, a dense aura condensed into a blue shroud: the fortune of a god’s incarnation, bearing the hope of a million followers—so thick it shimmered with hints of violet.

This alone would rival the fortune of most city-state rulers. Yet, in the deepest reaches of the unseen, a haze of purple was slowly forming, suffused with a vast and mighty force. This was the destiny bestowed by the mantle of Child of the World, a heavenly mandate as ancient as the legends of his past life.

Sensing these signs, Ardis understood. He felt the subtle agitation of the purple aura and his heart stirred.

In the days that followed, Ardis did little else but quietly train his private soldiers, sharing with them select secret techniques to strengthen their prowess.

Training private armies and imparting martial skills—such actions in the ancient world of his previous life would have meant immediate destruction by royal decree. But here, among the fiefs of lords, it was still tolerated. While teaching the art of battle energy remained taboo, mere martial techniques raised no alarm.

Most of these techniques were Ardis’s own creation. As a deity, he had among his million worshippers countless masters of combat whose insights, carried by faith, had accumulated within him until he transcended the ordinary, making the crafting of such skills effortless.

So the days passed until, beyond the town’s borders, several unexpected visitors arrived.

“So this is the domain of Sir Ardis Nalba?” One man, standing outside the town, gazed upon the neat surroundings and the well-tended wheat fields, his voice filled with wonder.

“There must be several thousand acres here!” he exclaimed, watching the busy townsfolk, envy gleaming in his eyes.

“Indeed,” another behind him agreed. “This town used to have only a few hundred people and barely over a thousand acres. Yet in just a year or two, it’s grown to nearly ten thousand residents and tens of thousands of acres.”

“Astonishing,” the first man murmured, unable to hide his admiration.

After a little more conversation, they made their way inside to where Ardis was.

On a wide training ground, a guard came forward to announce, “My lord, several men claiming to be royal envoys request an audience.”

Ardis nodded. “Let them in.”

Soon, a group of dust-covered knights entered. Upon seeing Ardis, they produced a summons. “Sir Ardis, by order of the king, you are to lead a force of at least one hundred men to the city of Cecil one month hence.”

Ardis nodded calmly. “It will be done.”

The envoys seemed visibly relieved at his reply, and a measure of respect took root in their hearts. After a quick bow, they hurried off—they clearly had many other stops to make.

Once they had departed, Nadiel stepped forward. “My lord, are we truly to march to war?”

Ardis smiled mysteriously. “Of course we are. Not only that, but we must move swiftly.”

“How many men can we muster, Nadiel?” he asked suddenly, rising to his feet.

As he stood, a dense, weighty fortune surged behind him, dominated by a thread of purple that seemed to merge with a distant star, radiating a majesty so divine none could meet his gaze.

Before him, Nadiel, awed by the force, answered solemnly, “At present, we have five hundred regular troops, fifty town guards, and nearly every able-bodied man in the town has undergone training. In an emergency, we could raise almost three thousand men.”

Ardis nodded, then looked to another man behind Nadiel. “Carter!”

“Yes!” This was a burly man in leather, thickly furred, who answered Ardis in a booming voice.

“How many can your tribe provide?” Ardis asked.

The man considered. “If we muster every adult male, under the call of the Great God of Nature, we can field at least a thousand—seasoned warriors, all veterans of countless battles against the desert tribes.”

“Five thousand, then? That should suffice,” Ardis thought to himself. At last, he turned to the final figure.

An old man clad in a robe of sky-blue and gold stood silently nearby, exuding a formidable divine power—the mark of a high priest.

Sensing Ardis’s gaze, the old priest bowed respectfully. “Honored Sir Nalba, our tribe abides by your will.”

Ardis smiled and nodded. The priests watching from below could sense a mighty divine force awakening within him.

“My god, are you finally about to awaken?” the priest prayed, heart trembling with awe as an indescribable thrill swept through his soul.