Little Tyrant Doesn’t Want to Meet with a Bad End

The moment Roel’s hand came into contact with Cynthia’s head, pale yellow mana began cloaking her body. Through his hand, it flowed into her body.

The next moment, Cynthia jolted from the great impact, causing her body to stiffen. It wasn’t an impact arising from aggression. In truth, Roel hadn’t used any spells at all. The suppression she felt stemmed from the natural suppression arising from a superior being towering above her.

As the Primordial Earth Goddess, Peytra’s powers were the purest form of the Unyielding Origin Attribute. The other believers who managed to obtain the Unyielding Origin Attribute were able to bask in her afterglow, but the differences were clear. This was also the reason why ancient gods were able to influence those beneath them on the ladder.

As the mana of the Earth Goddess gradually suffused her body, Cynthia found her consciousness transported to a valley, where she found herself standing before a humongous snake of unbelievable proportions. This was the divine avatar of the Earth Goddess, the very original manifestation of their Origin Attribute. Her presence commanded subservience from her believers.

In this ‘illusion’, she found her mana circulating faster than ever. An old wound by the side of her ribcage began heating up as the pale yellow mana harnessing unbelievable life force began healing the physical trauma she had struggled with all these years.

Cynthia was utterly astounded by the happenings in her body. Transcendents of the Unyielding Origin Attribute were known for their overflowing life force, but she had never seen such pure energy before.

Physical trauma was one of the main reasons why mercenaries tended to live short lives. The existence of supernatural powers in this world meant that injuries could get extremely messy, especially when it involved rare toxins, unique skills, or bloodline spells. Those were very likely to haunt one for life.

The wound by the side of Cynthia’s ribcage was inflicted by an evil cultist she encountered in the midst of her mission. It was from a unique bloodline spell, and it became completely untreatable after she killed the enemy. Even though she had sought medical treatment and tried to suppress its effects as much as possible, she would still be rudely awoken by a sharp pain in the middle of the night from time to time.

The organization that was best equipped to deal with such wounds was the church, but as one could expect, such services were not offered to heretics like her.

She knew deep down that even though she could suppress the effects of the bloodline spell now that she was still at her peak, it could very well become the cause of her death a hundred years from now, when she became frail and ailing.

She had seen far too many elders in the mercenary band who had suffered the same fate, including her father.

Yet, her fate was changed today. Basked in this unprecedentedly powerful blessing, she heard Peytra’s voice sounding in her ears. The warmth she felt convinced her to let loose and fully immerse herself in the mana and edict from the Earth Goddess.

Meanwhile, Roel continued gazing at her calmly, though his nervously beating heart was telling a different story.

Needless to say, he didn’t bear any lustful intention when he assessed Cynthia earlier on. In truth, he was gauging her through Peytra’s powers, and his mission was pretty much complete after infusing Peytra’s mana into her body.

Recalling the stiffened expression on Cynthia’s face and her ever-so-slightly trembling body earlier on, Roel shook his head and sighed. He had received a heads up from Rosa that the Ironwall Mercenaries didn’t have a high opinion of the Theocracy, but he didn’t think that it would be such a degree. He knew that it would be impossible to convince her with words alone, so he could only seek Peytra’s help here.

He knew that he needed powerful aides to assist him. It would be too inefficient if he had to deal with everything himself, not to mention that it would undermine his prestige as the proxy fief lord if he had to intervene in every matter personally.

In truth, Roel’s hands were itching for a battle after advancing to Origin Level 4, but he realized that any side effect he suffered had to be cured by Nora, Charlotte, and Alicia’s powers. In fact, even if he used Ascendwing to recover from the state of undead reanimation, Nora would still be able to sense it.

If he were to be caught engaging in a battle without a compelling reason, his punishments could range from light warnings to severe tearful complaints from the girls.

By this point, Roel was already aware that he was particularly vulnerable to tears, be it from Alicia or Charlotte. As for Nora, while she wasn’t the type of cry, she did have the power to ‘restrict Roel’s movement’ for his safety as his protector… and it was no secret what she would attempt to do once he was grounded.

The thought of all these made him shudder. He quickly snapped out of his thoughts and turned his attention back to Cynthia. The mana infusion had already come to a halt, and Cynthia slowly opened her eyes.

“Looks like it was a good dream, Miss Cynthia.”

“… Lord Holy Son, I apologize for my earlier disrespect. Please pardon my ignorance.”

???

Holy Son? Why am I called that again?

He remembered being addressed as such when he sought refuge at a monastery during the March Turmoil. Now that he thought about it, most of those who were involved in gods in one way or another usually carried the prefix, ‘holy’.

“It seems like Peytra has explained my circumstances to you.”

“Yes, Lord Holy Son. The Great One has made a decree and bestowed upon me a blessing.”

Cynthia’s voice carried a hint of apology. She had cast doubt upon Roel’s character and was prejudiced to assume that all of the Theocracy’s high nobles were biased against heretics. However, having received the decree of the Earth Goddess herself, she came to realize that she had misunderstood him.

Put in the ancient times, Roel would be considered as the high priest of the Unyielding Sect, the number one person beneath the Earth Goddess. In any sect, anyone who dared to defy the will of the high priest would suffer divine retribution, making it no exaggeration to say that the high priest’s words were absolute.

She knew that Roel could have simply forced her into submission, but he didn’t exploit the authority he wielded to coerce her into accepting his offer throughout the course of the negotiation. Even when he was rejected time and time again, he didn’t lose his temper and instead offered her a blessing. She was moved by the sincerity he had shown here.

She thought about those words Roel had said earlier, but this time, she harbored not doubts but a sliver of hope for a brighter future for her and her comrades.

As large as the Sia Continent was, there were only so few nobles who were willing to side themselves with heretics, and not a single one of them was a powerful high noble like the Ascarts.

In light of the fact that Roel was their Holy Son and wouldn’t betray them, Cynthia felt that he could be someone worth serving. If things worked out, they could finally free themselves from their life of wandering and have a place where they could call home.

And if the attitude the Theocracy took toward the heretics really changes in the future…

The thought of it made Cynthia’s heart thump in excitement. She quickly adjusted her posture into a formal single knee kneel and lowered her head with a hand placed on her chest.

“Lord Holy Son, I, Cynthia Algert, in representation the Ironwall Mercenaries, am willing to pledge my loyalty to you.”