The chime of the system cut through the quiet like a bullet.
> Notice: Time Remaining – 2 Days, 6 Hours, 41 Minutes.
I froze.
"Two days?" My voice cracked, half a laugh, half a breakdown. "What the hell?"
I slumped onto my bed, phone in hand, staring at the countdown like it might suddenly give me an extension out of pity.
"Okay… okay. Breathe."
I did. Sort of.
"This is just too much. Seriously, it hasn't even been a full week and I'm already speedrunning godhood like it's a side quest in a dating sim."
The glowing display pulsed softly in silence.
"I mean—was my approach wrong?" I asked aloud, to no one and the system both. "Should I have just roamed around like a fantasy protagonist, going village to village, poking every rando with a tragic backstory?"
I closed my eyes, frustration simmering just under the surface.
"No. No. Think. If I went door to door, maybe I find one person per day. Two if I'm lucky. But this?" I held up my phone like it was a gospel. "This lets them come to me."
I sat up, speaking faster now. "A merchant draws attention. People flock to sellers, especially ones with strange, tasty goods. I sit still, they gather, I scan. Boom. Instant read. Strength. Potential. All in one glance."
I tapped my temple.
"Let's say I get a hundred people in a single morning. Out of those, even just one with a high potential—say, B or A—would've taken me a week to find wandering aimlessly. But with this setup? I can test and filter at scale."
The screen didn't respond, but it didn't need to.
"I'm not lazy," I muttered, "I'm efficient. This is a divine job, not a hero's journey. I'm not the sword. I'm the one who finds the sword."
I stared at the clock ticking down.
"Two days…"
I clenched my jaw.
"I can make this work."
> Tip: Confidence is the root of revelation.
I smirked faintly. "And a good sales pitch, apparently."
Eight days.
Eight. Long. Exhausting. Days.
And still—nothing.
I slumped against the wall of the inn room, staring blankly at the ceiling. My phone floated nearby, silent for once. No tips. No updates. No encouraging little pings telling me I was "on the right track."
Because I wasn't.
I dragged a hand down my face and exhaled slowly. "Not even an A…"
I'd found a B two days ago. Thought maybe—just maybe—that was it. But the moment I locked eyes with him, I knew.
"No spark. No will. Just strong arms and a dull mind," I muttered. "He'd probably trade his sword for a sandwich if I waved it right."
I sat upright and stared at the screen again. The timer still ticked down like a guillotine over my head.
"This can't go on."
My voice was flat now. Cold. Not angry—just tired.
"I thought I was being smart. Drawing people to me. Efficient. Scanning for potential like a divine supermarket manager doing inventory on human souls."
I chuckled dryly.
"But no hero has shown up. No A. No S. No miracle."
I leaned forward, elbows on knees.
"Either I'm in the wrong place… or I'm looking the wrong way."
Silence.
Then the system pinged.
> Tip: Revelation often begins at the point of surrender.
"Cryptic nonsense again," I muttered. "Could've just said, 'Hey buddy, try the next village.'"
But still… something in my chest tightened. A quiet urgency building.
"Fine," I whispered. "Tomorrow, I change the plan."
I wandered through the village again, hands in my pockets, hood pulled low just in case. The dirt road felt familiar now. Every crack and pebble. The calls of street vendors, the creak of old wooden carts. I didn't even need the map anymore.
Some of the villagers looked up as I passed.
"Mister Merchant!"
I turned.
It was a group of kids, waving half-eaten cookies in their hands like prized trophies. One of them even shouted, "He's the one with nobleman's sweets!"
I gave them a nod and a small smile. "Eat slowly. You'll choke."
They grinned and ran off.
Famous. I'd become famous. Or well—village famous.
People smiled when they saw me. Some nodded. A few whispered. They all knew me as that wandering seller of luxuries, who only showed up once a day with candy wrapped in strange magic. I'd even heard someone compare my chocolate to "dragon sugar."
I'd like to see what they'd say about Pocky sticks.
Still, this wasn't what I came here for.
I looked around. Same faces. Familiar customers. Grateful smiles. Not one glimmer beyond C-rank.
Just people.
No heroes.
As I walked through the market's mess of noise and life, something pricked at me.
A gaze.
Not heavy. Not hostile. Just… watching.
I stopped mid-step, brows knitting. The village was too loud for silence, but somehow it still felt like the world quieted just a notch. I scanned the crowd—familiar vendors, cheerful buyers, kids licking sugar from their fingers—
Then I saw them.
Leaning against the side of a crumbling brick wall. Half-shaded by a stall's tattered tarp. A figure small enough to be mistaken for a kid, but the way they stood—too still. Not childish.
Short, but tall enough to seem older than their posture suggested. Their face was hidden beneath a dirty hood, the kind that clung to sweat and smoke. Ragged. Torn. Someone you'd pass without a second glance.
But I glanced twice.
And the Ever-Seeing Eye flared.
> Name: Lorentheel
Age: 15
Skill: None
Potential: S
I felt my heart do a backflip.
"S?" I whispered, like the letter would vanish if I said it too loud. "Oh shit. That's it. That's my hero."
I didn't waste a second.
I fixed my face—soft smile, concerned eyes, relaxed shoulders. Thousand Faces shifted into action automatically, syncing with my thoughts. I was no longer just a merchant. I was a warm-hearted stranger, trustworthy, safe, a presence you wanted to follow.
I approached with a light step, careful not to spook.
"Hey there," I said, my voice easy, friendly, just a touch concerned. "You look like you haven't eaten all day. You alright?"
He flinched—just a little—but enough to show he wasn't expecting me to speak. Or maybe not expecting kindness. His hands twitched at his sides, and he shifted like he might bolt.
Panic. That raw, sharp kind of fear that kids get when they think they've been caught doing something wrong. I raised both palms gently.
"Woah, hey, easy," I said, softening my tone even more. "Didn't mean to startle you."
He didn't run. That was a good sign. Still hidden beneath that hood, he kept his head low.
"You look like a child," I continued with a little tilt of my head. "Small frame, quiet steps, eyes that linger longer than they should. And you've been watching me for a while."
I knelt down just enough to not tower over him, but not low enough to feel threatening. "So… do you need something?"
He hesitated. Just stood there, hands clutching his sleeves. The hood shifted slightly. No words came.
"It's alright," I added, voice light. "I'm not mad. Just curious."
His mouth opened, then closed. He looked like someone who'd forgotten how to talk. Like speech was a thing he had to relearn.
My skill buzzed faintly. Thousand Faces adjusting. My expression softened further, a gentle pull of concern in the brow, a smile not too wide. The kind you offer to scared animals and lost children.
Still, no response. But he hadn't run.
I could work with that.
Then, finally, the child spoke—quiet, like a breeze rustling through dry leaves.
"Do… do you still have the sweets?"
I blinked. That voice—it was soft, unused, like the words had to crawl out of him. But it was steady enough.
I straightened just a little, surprised, then smiled. "Depends," I said, hands casually slipping behind my back. "Are you planning to buy some?"
He nodded, almost too quickly. "Yes. I… I will buy."
That made me tilt my head. "You will, huh? Then I suppose I should fetch some from my stock."
I paused for a beat. Then offered a gentle chuckle and leaned in slightly.
"Although," I said, a mock conspiratorial tone in my voice, "I usually sell them in the market. But if you really want some… how about this? Take me to your home, and I'll bring them there. Special service. First-time customer privilege."
His head jerked up slightly at that. "To… my home?"
"Yup. Don't worry, I don't bite," I said, shrugging casually. "You don't even have to let me in. Just somewhere nearby's fine. I promise I won't cause trouble."
He hesitated again—longer this time. I could see the thoughts crawling through his eyes. Suspicion. Worry. But also want. Hunger. Maybe not just for the sweets.
Then, quietly, he nodded.
"...Alright."
We started walking together, the boy a few steps ahead, me trailing close behind with the sweets tucked safely in my bag.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught glances—sharp, suspicious eyes fixed on us from the villagers. Whispers floated in the air, sharp as knives. They weren't looking at me. No, their gaze was on the boy. Hostile. Like he was some kind of danger.
I frowned, trying to catch his reaction, but he kept walking, shoulders tense, eyes flicking nervously around.
Then, abruptly, he stopped. Turned to me, eyes wide and frantic.
"This is a mistake," he blurted out. "I… I'm sorry. You should stop following me."
Before I could say a word, he spun around and sprinted off, vanishing between the crowded alleys and narrow lanes.
I stood there, mouth half-open, heart pounding. What the hell just happened?
I dashed after him, heart pounding like a drum. He glanced back, panic written all over his face, but I was quicker. In one smooth move, I caught up and gently grabbed his arm.
"Hey, don't fret," I said, keeping my voice calm and friendly. "Look, I'm not some threat—I just want to share some snacks with you. Free of charge. No strings attached."
His eyes narrowed, but I pressed on.
"Besides, if you let me in, I can show you some things you might like. I'm just a merchant passing through, nothing more. It's safer than running around like this, trust me."
He hesitated, searching my face for any hint of trickery. After a long moment, his grip on my arm relaxed.
"Okay," he whispered, "but only for a little while."
He nodded and fell into step beside me, still clutching the hood tighter over his head. As we walked, I tried to break the silence.
"So, who are these sweets for? Family? Friends?"
He shrugged, eyes fixed on the ground. "For me."
"Fair enough. How did you even hear about me anyway? Word travels fast for a sweet tooth, huh?"
He gave a faint shrug but didn't say more.
We rounded a crooked corner, and in front of us stood a house that looked like it had seen better centuries—worn wood, sagging roof, and more holes than walls.
He stopped, eyes flicking up to meet mine for the first time in a while.
"This is... where I live."
And then he went silent. No answer when I asked what he did here. Just quiet.
The boy raised his hand and knocked on the worn wooden door. A moment later, his voice echoed softly, "Mother, it's me."
The door creaked open, revealing a woman so gaunt it was like the shadows clung to her. Her fingers were blackened, almost like they'd been stained with ink or soot, trailing up his arms. Her neck, pale and thin, curved like a spider's delicate frame. She smiled warmly at her son, but the moment her eyes flicked to me, the smile stiffened—tension snapped through the air like a brittle thread.
I stepped forward, hands raised slightly in greeting. "Hello?"
Her wary eyes narrowed, scanning me like I might vanish or attack at any second.
The boy glanced back and forth between us, quiet now.