For a heartbeat there was nothing but silence—no wind, no birds, just the echo of my own strike fading into the trees. Even I stood frozen, staring at my fist. That… that was only one of the basic techniques from the handbook. Yet the beast lay sprawled, unconscious, a mountain of fur and muscle toppled by a single blow.
I slowly raised my eyes to the hunters. Their spears and stone blades had slipped from their hands, clattering onto the forest floor. Their pupils were wide, their faces pale; some trembled as if they'd seen a ghost. And then, one by one, they dropped to their knees.
When I realized where I was standing—at the very center of the clearing, the beast at my feet, their weapons scattered in a ring around me—I felt a strange weight settle on my shoulders.
This… isn't what I wanted.
All around me, heads bowed. I stood alone, glowing threads of spiritual energy still flickering faintly across my knuckles, while their eyes—full of shock, fear, and something I could
They didn't speak. Not a whisper, not even a grunt—just a heavy, stunned silence that pressed against my ears. Then, without warning, the hunters moved as one.
Their weapons lay forgotten on the ground, and their bare feet padded softly over the dirt as they approached. Before I could step back, several pairs of rough but steady hands reached out and lifted me, raising me high the way you might raise a victor or an idol.
I hung there, balanced in their grip, my feet no longer touching the forest floor. The unconscious beast was being dragged behind them with ropes of vine, its huge body leaving deep grooves in the soil.
I didn't resist. The spiritual energy flowing off them… it's warm. Peaceful. Not malicious. The silver threads I saw flickered softly around their bodies like calm water, nothing like the violent storm I'd sensed in the beast.
Safe to assume they don't mean me harm, I thought, letting my arms relax. They're probably taking me to their village… along with the giant beast.
From a distance, just before the village gate, they finally stopped. The hands holding me loosened, and my feet touched the ground again. The hunters stepped back but still formed a loose circle around me. Not a single word was spoken.
One of the men—broad-shouldered, his stone spear still in hand—broke away from the group and hurried toward the elder couple. They exchanged hushed words while the rest of the villagers stared at me from behind the vine gate, their faces a mix of fear and awe.
After a moment, the old man with the flower garland began walking toward me, his steps deliberate, his eyes sharp despite the lines of age.
Behind him, the man who had spoken to him raised his voice, loud enough for me to hear."Daruka"—I caught the name—"told me what happened in the forest. Are you sure this person defeated the beast in one strike? And he's not here to kill us?"
I blinked. I can understand them…? Then it clicked. Of course. Nebula loaded me with thousands of languages. My mind just translates it without me even thinking.
I lifted my hands slowly, palms open, and stepped forward a little.
"Don't be afraid of me,"I said, my voice steady but calm, letting the words flow in their tongue.
The crowd went utterly still. Even the children stopped fidgeting.
"You… can speak our language?" the old man asked slowly, his voice rasping like dry leaves. He stopped a few paces away from me, his gaze steady but cautious. Around him, I could barely see thin wisps of spiritual energy—faint, flickering like dying embers.
In that moment, I realized something. Spiritual energy changes with emotion. Warm when calm, sharp when hostile. The villagers' energy was still mostly gentle, but I could sense a ripple of unease under the surface. The old man's aura was the weakest of all—age had drained him, leaving only a dim glow where once there must've been more.
I straightened, choosing my words carefully. "Yes, I can speak your language," I said, my voice calm and low. Better not sound like an outsider.
I hesitated for a heartbeat. I should use a name that doesn't sound foreign to them. Something simple. My eyes drifted to the faint dragon-shaped pattern of spiritual threads swirling above the forest canopy. Ryuma… it means dragon. I like dragons. I wonder if I'll see one here.
I looked back at the old man. "My name is Ryuma," I said firmly.
The old man tilted his head slightly, his wrinkled face tightening. "Mr. Ryuma…" he said, voice testing the name. "How can you speak our tongue? Are you from this land—or do your parents come from here?"
We spoke for a while beneath the village gate, the old man's questions steady but cautious. I chose my words carefully, explaining and re‑explaining that I wasn't a threat, that I wasn't here to harm them. Slowly, the tension in the air began to ease, their spiritual energy softening back to its warm glow. But the way they looked at me changed. Awe crept into their eyes where there had been fear. They began to murmur among themselves, their voices hushed, reverent.
The old man leaned closer and spoke quietly. "Long ago, our ancestors told of a deity who would descend from the sky," he said, his tone like someone reciting a prayer. "A liberator of the world, sent to slay the evils that hold us in chains."
I blinked at him, stunned. A deity? A liberator? Me?
I wasn't even sure if gods existed. And if they did, I had no desire to be one. I had no grand ambition to liberate anything; I was just trying to survive, to learn, to someday find my parents again. Yet, looking at their faces—hungry, hopeful, desperate—I understood.
For now, it's safer to behave like what they think I am. If it keeps them calm, if it helps me blend in, then fine.
I nodded slowly, letting a faint, calm smile touch my lips. "I understand," I said, my voice carrying just enough weight to match their expectation. Inside, though, my thoughts were a jumble. I don't know if there are gods. I don't know if I'm meant to be anything at all. But for now… I'll play along.