As the knight finished his announcement, he stood tall and still, exuding an aura of nobility and quiet strength. Even in silence, his presence was formidable.
The villagers murmured among themselves, curious about the boy being described in such detail. Whispers filled the air.
Some speculated he had committed a sin against the Church.
Others believed he must have such immense potential that the Holy Knights themselves came to recruit him.
A few young ladies, however, gossiped about how handsome the knight was—charmed by his stoic expression and dignified bearing.
The soldiers standing beside him, meanwhile, were experiencing bitter déjà vu. Once again, the young women of yet another village were completely ignoring them in favor of their captain. It had become a pattern ever since they entered the countryside, and their jealousy simmered beneath their armor.
The knight, however, paid the gossip no mind. His thoughts were elsewhere—on the prophecy the Pope had spoken of.
According to the Pope, the Goddess of Wisdom and Prosperity herself had sent down a vision. She foretold the founding of a new order and the rise of a new god—one previously unknown to all existing pantheons. The chosen proxy, she said, was somewhere in the outskirts of the kingdom.
Normally, prophecies were delivered by the entity known as the Holy Light, a being of divine message. But the goddess only appeared when the message was so critical that it would shift the course of humanity. That alone proved how important this revelation was.
Hours passed. The sun blazed high in the sky, and yet the knight remained at his post, unwavering.
Then, without warning, clouds rolled across the sky, softening the sun's heat. A cool gust of wind stirred the stillness in the village square.
That's when the boy and his grandfather appeared.
They had just been walking home when they heard the murmurs. Upon seeing the knight standing in the square, the boy's eyes began to glow faint red. A sudden aura of divine energy burst from him, instantly drawing everyone's attention.
The knight's eyes widened. He saw the aura—and more importantly—the divine marking on the boy's left hand.
Without hesitation, he began marching directly toward him. The boy stood frozen, stunned, while the grandfather instinctively stepped forward, ready to protect.
The knight stopped in front of the boy, dropped to one knee, and placed his hand over his heart.
The soldiers, realizing what was happening, quickly followed and bowed deeply.
Gasps filled the air.
The villagers were stunned into silence. In their eyes, the boy was barely fourteen—and yet, knights were kneeling before him?
Then the knight's voice rang out across the square.
"THIS HUMBLE SERVANT OF LADY WISDOM, KNIGHT JULIUS, GREETS THE PROXY OF THE LORD OF WAR!"
The villagers were now in complete shock.
Sensing a commotion was about to erupt, the grandfather quickly stepped in and suggested,
"Perhaps... it would be better if we talked inside our home."
The knights agreed without protest.
---
Inside the cozy log cabin, the atmosphere settled. As the grandfather brewed tea in the kitchen, the knights sat at the dining table with the boy. Julius, the knight captain, turned to him with respectful curiosity.
"My lord, may I ask… have you received a divine revelation in a dream?"
The boy nodded and recounted everything he saw. He told them about the endless plains, the red-bearded god, the pact, and the mark that had appeared upon waking.
Julius listened carefully. Every detail confirmed what the prophecy had said. There was no doubt—the boy was indeed the proxy of a new god.
But as the boy spoke, his cheerful demeanor faded. His eyes kept drifting to the kitchen—toward his grandfather, who hummed as he poured tea, completely unaware of the future that was rapidly unfolding.
Julius noticed.
"My lord," he asked gently, "is something troubling you? Please speak freely. It is my duty to ease your burdens."
The boy hesitated, but finally admitted,
"I worry about my grandfather. He's my only living family. He's raised me, cared for me. If I leave… he'll be all alone."
Julius followed the boy's gaze, where the old man stood, still humming as he arranged cups on a tray.
Smiling with understanding, the knight responded,
"Then let him come with us. We would be honored to have your guardian by your side."
Hearing that, the boy's eyes lit up. As his grandfather approached with the tea, the boy beamed.
"Gramps! Good news—Sir Julius says you can come with us to the Holy Empire! Let's go together!"
The grandfather placed the tray down, served everyone a cup, then took his seat. He sipped quietly.
Then, with a calm voice and unreadable expression, he said:
"No."
Just a simple word—no—without explanation.
The boy's face fell. The joy that had lit him up moments ago disappeared instantly. He looked like he might cry.
The old man sighed and spoke again, this time with a tinge of sadness.
"I'm sorry, kiddo. I really am. But I can't leave this village. I'm the only dungeon cleaner around here."
"It's not just about cleaning. I make sure no monsters, no parasites linger. If I leave, this village could fall apart."
The boy sat in silence, gloomy but understanding. The reasoning made sense. Still, it didn't hurt any less.
The old man stood and looked outside.
"It's getting dark. Best not to travel at night. Stay here tonight. I'll make dinner for everyone."
The knights agreed respectfully. The boy said nothing—just stared into his tea, quiet and disappointed.
Later, after dinner, the boy spoke up.
"Gramps… could you make me one last fish sandwich?"
The old man didn't speak. He simply stood and walked into the kitchen. No jokes. No complaints. Only silence.
But that silence spoke louder than any words.
---
The next morning, as the sun rose and the birds began to chirp, the knights prepared the carriage. The boy packed what little he had into a small suitcase. Outside, his grandfather was watering the flower bed surrounding the cabin—quiet and peaceful as ever.
When it came time to leave, the boy looked around one last time.
The village.
The dungeon he hated.
The flower beds.
The old wooden cabin.
The man who raised him.
He turned and boarded the carriage without a word. As it rolled away, he looked back.
His grandfather stood in the same spot, hands behind his back, watching the carriage disappear. A small, wistful smile tugged at his lips.
"Linda... looks like our grandson has grown up," he murmured.
"Looks like he's destined for greatness... unlike me, who's achieved nothing—except for him."
He looked up toward the sky—clear blue, dotted with soft clouds. In his mind, he saw her again: a woman in a long sundress, with flowing brown hair, a wide straw hat, and a smile that still warmed his heart.
And for a moment, the old man simply stood there—smiling back.