"All urgent treatment is finished."
The middle-aged man let out a long breath as he spoke, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. Even after channeling divine power, he looked more like an overworked field medic than a holy servant of a goddess.
The underworld was a strange mixture of people.
Refugees who had nowhere else to go.
Beggars who had long abandoned pride.
Mercenaries who sold their blades to the highest bidder.
Even fallen or "managing" nobles who preferred shadows to scrutiny.
If they had one thing in common, it was this:
Here, money was power.
With enough coin, you could buy
information.
Protection.
Silence.
And, apparently—
A priest.
'But why is a genuine priest here?'
His robe looked plain at first glance, dust-stained from travel and patched at the hem. But the faint golden embroidery circling the cuffs gave him away.
A sunburst motif.
Subtle. Refined.
Recognizable.
And when my status window flickered—
[High Priest Robe]
