God’s Perspective

Though curious, Gavrin decided he didn’t want to know why the villagers kept closing their eyes while clutching their gods' emblems. He could sense there was more to it, but some mysteries were better left untouched—for now.

***

Back at the inn, the Silverroad Trading Company members stood bewildered, watching their boss being dragged off by the village head without so much as a word of instruction.

Megara, Gavrin's trusted assistant, was the first to speak. "What should we do now?" she asked, looking around at her companions, clearly puzzled by the situation.

Hartwell, the dim-witted caretaker from the night before, grinned wide. "Come on! Let’s go to the square! Let's watch the program!" He was already moving toward the door, clearly excited. "Ain't much else to do, might as well enjoy it!"

The rest of the company exchanged hesitant glances but soon followed suit, with a mix of reluctance and unspoken agreement. With no clear orders and the village bustling with activity, they found themselves drawn toward the arena.

When they arrived, they were greeted by the sight of villagers—men, women, even children and the elderly—engaged in one-on-one combat. The sheer diversity of the abilities on display left the Silverroad traders awestruck. Some villagers manipulated the elements with ease, summoning flames, water, and wind. Others wielded weapons with impressive skill—swords, axes, daggers—fighting with precision and grace.

***

Tom and Guilford stepped onto the arena platform, the yellowish stone beneath their feet radiating faint warmth from the morning sun. Around them, the villagers had gathered, eager for the sparring match between the two powerful combatants. Tom, an aid, but still has the ability of a warrior, radiated calm confidence as he gripped his longsword, the faint golden shimmer of his holy abilities surrounding him. Across from him stood Guilford, the broad-shouldered axe warrior, gripping his massive axe in both hands with a casual ease that spoke of raw strength.

The two fighters locked eyes, sizing each other up, while the crowd murmured in anticipation. The arena was large enough to give them space to maneuver, and the tension in the air was palpable.

"Ready?" Brennan’s voice boomed from the edge of the arena.

Tom raised his sword in a salute, the edge glowing faintly as his holy power coursed through it. Guilford smirked, rolling his shoulders and gripping his axe tighter, ready to unleash the full force of his strength.

"Begin!"

Guilford wasted no time, charging toward Tom with surprising speed for someone so bulky. His axe was a blur as he swung it downward with brutal force, aiming for a quick, devastating blow. Tom, however, was ready. His sword came up, catching the axe on its flat edge. The force of the blow jarred him, but his endurance held strong as he pushed the attack aside.

Tom retaliated, taking a step forward and calling upon his ability Holy Strike. His sword glowed brighter as holy energy surged through it, and he slashed at Guilford’s side. The strike landed cleanly, and the divine energy seared through the warrior’s defenses, inflicting Lightburn. Guilford grunted in pain, staggering back as golden light burned along the wound. He could feel the damage amplifying every second.

"Not bad, aid warrior," Guilford growled through gritted teeth, "but I’m just getting started."

Despite the burning sensation from the holy strike, Guilford summoned the strength to activate his own ability—Whirlwind Attack. He planted his feet and spun in a wide arc, his axe creating a deadly circle of destruction. The force of the spin was immense, far beyond what Tom expected. Guilford’s strength stat amplified the attack threefold, and Tom barely managed to raise his sword in time to block the first swing.

The impact sent him skidding backward, his arms numb from the sheer power behind the attack. Guilford’s spinning axe struck again, grazing Tom’s armor and leaving a deep gash along his side. Tom winced, feeling his endurance falter, but his years of training kept him on his feet.

As Guilford’s whirlwind finally came to an end, the debuff hit him hard. His body felt sluggish, his endurance halved. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he could hear his breath coming in ragged gasps. But the damage had been done—Tom was bruised and bleeding, and Guilford knew he couldn’t let up now.

Tom, too, felt the weight of his own debuff. His Holy Strike had taken a toll on his strength, leaving him weaker and slower. But he knew that Guilford’s endurance had been cut in half as well, and this was his chance.

Tom tightened his grip on his sword and rushed forward, aiming for a decisive blow. He brought his sword down with a calculated strike, targeting the weakened warrior’s exposed side. Guilford, still reeling from the effects of his own ability, barely managed to parry with his axe, but the force of Tom’s attack sent him stumbling.

The two fighters were now both battered, their powerful abilities taking a toll on their bodies. Guilford’s breath came in ragged gasps as he swung his axe one last time, hoping to overpower Tom with sheer brute force. But Tom, though weakened, was quicker. He sidestepped the swing and thrust his sword forward, the blade finding its mark on Guilford’s shoulder.

With a grunt, Guilford dropped to one knee, his axe slipping from his grasp. The crowd erupted into cheers, but Tom held his sword steady, his chest heaving from exertion. 

Guilford looked up, a grudging smile on his face. "You’ve got me this time, aid warrior," he said, raising a hand in surrender.

Tom stepped back, offering a hand to his fallen opponent. "It was a close one," he said, helping Guilford to his feet.

The crowd cheered louder as the two warriors clasped hands in a show of respect, their rivalry momentarily set aside after the intense sparring match.

***

As the caravan members watched the scene unfold, their jaws collectively dropped in disbelief. Tom and Guilford, bloodied and bruised from the intense sparring match just moments ago, were now standing tall, their wounds closing at a rapid pace. The golden light that shimmered around their bodies pulsed with divine energy, knitting together torn flesh and restoring strength almost instantly.

"How's that possible?" whispered one of the coachmen, his voice loud enough for those around him to hear. His wide eyes were fixed on the arena, unable to comprehend what he was witnessing. 

Megara, standing nearby, overheard the whisper. She didn’t have any answers for the coachman, but in her heart, she shared the same awe. Her usual composed demeanor faltered as she stared at the fighters, now looking as though they hadn’t even been touched. **What kind of power could do that?** she wondered. There wasn’t a single healer in the capital capable of such rapid recovery, and certainly none outside of the royal mages who could channel such magic.

"It’s like... it’s like they were never hurt at all," another caravan member murmured, his voice tinged with awe.

Megara nodded slightly, though she didn’t speak. She had seen many things in her years of working for Silverroad, but this was something else. **Divine magic?** That thought tugged at her mind. But no, even the healers blessed by the Seven Gods couldn’t do something like this. This was beyond any ordinary magic, beyond what even the most skilled mages of St. Agatha's could achieve.

She glanced around at the rest of the company. They were equally captivated, many of them exchanging hushed remarks, some still in disbelief. Even Hartwell, the dim-witted carriage caretaker who usually shrugged off anything that wasn’t directly related to ale or horses, stood wide-eyed, his mouth slightly agape.

Megara felt something other than caution about their presence here—something almost like curiosity, mixed with the slightest hint of reverence.

***

The Silverroad Trading Company couldn't help but notice the strange rituals happening near the large wooden statue beside the arena. People were offering fruits and crops at its base, praying briefly, then moving on. More bizarre, though, were those who stood before the statue, holding their hands out as if to grab something—and, without warning, vials of red liquid materialized from thin air. 

"Is that magic?" Megara muttered to herself, eyes wide in disbelief. They had seen magic before, but this... conjuring physical objects like glass vials? That was beyond anything even the most skilled mages from St. Agatha’s could achieve. No one in their lives had ever witnessed such a feat.

But something else was gnawing at them—the villagers’ necklaces. Each person seemed to wear a different version, made of various materials, but all of them bore the same cross-shaped design. These pendants were constantly in their hands, the villagers clutching them as though they were indispensable.

Hartwell, ever the curious one, broke away from the group and approached a woman who had just opened her eyes after one of the prayers. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at her necklace.

The woman, dressed like a herb collector, glanced at her pendant and smiled. “Oh, this? It’s a subscription icon.”

Hartwell blinked, confused. “A what?”

She laughed softly. “It’s how we access the Divine Interface. It’s got everything we need—medicine, strength, abilities... things that can really help out.”

The entire company, especially Hartwell, stared at her in disbelief. Hartwell asked again, “How do you get one of those? The necklace? How much does it cost?”

“Oh, you don’t buy it with coins. It’s not like that,” she said, struggling to explain. “It’s free... well, sort of. You earn it through the Interface’s currency. Here, let me show you how it works.”

Without hesitation, she guided Hartwell towards the altar.

Megara, seeing this, immediately grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? Boss said not to get involved with... strange things,” she whispered urgently, fear flickering in her eyes.

But Hartwell just grinned, his usual carefree attitude showing through. “Relax, Meg. It’s not dangerous, is it? These people look fine to me. Besides, I’ve had my eye on one of those necklaces—the one with the golden hue? It’d look good on me, don’t you think?”

He brushed off her concern with a laugh. “Look, if it’s dangerous, I’ll stop. It’s just a prayer, right?”

Reluctantly, Megara let him go, though her heart pounded with unease. She couldn’t just leave him to do this alone, so she followed closely behind. The rest of the company, equally torn between curiosity and caution, trailed after them, uncertain of what they were about to witness.