"So, welcome to my manor, ser and madame."
Zaire stared blankly at the weird fat man sitting cross-legged on a throne-esque chair.
The man's face was weathered, his nails chipped—a hardworking man, probably a construction worker.
But the glittering, repulsive dress he wore told a different story.
Nala smiled and gave a slight bow.
"Thank you for having us."
Zaire's gaze wheeled to Nala. This was the first time he'd seen her smile.
Eh, she's probably into this kind of medieval roleplaying.
Nonetheless, something felt amiss.
Why?
Well, Zaire's lack of an enthusiastic response made the dazzling man squint.
Zaire smiled and followed Nala's lead.
"Indeed, thanks for having us!"
The bright smile returned to the man's face, and he continued,
"My friends have probably introduced me to you. As you may have guessed, I am Messiah Ate... Weird name, indeed, but it's a weird world we live in now. My aspiration kinda landed me on this name. Hope you don't mind the presumptuousness."
"Of course not. The change has brought bad memories for all. Accepting a new name to adapt to this world sounds sane to me."
It was Nala who said it.
What the fuck!
It was Zaire who thought it.
Messiah nodded thankfully at Nala's words of affirmation.
He then turned toward his 'associates' who had brought the guests to his manor,
"Thank you, Madame Amelia, Ser Dirk, Ser Bright, and Ser Matt. I would love a private conversation with our esteemed guests. If you don't mind, may I have them in private?"
Amelia snorted in annoyance. Nevertheless, all bowed. Respectfully.
Zaire noticed it.
He noticed a weird sort of fascination each had toward this Messiah fellow.
It was fucking weird, but maybe he was responsible for saving them all?
I don't fucking know, man. Let's see where this conversation leads.
After the four filed out of the hall, Messiah smiled.
"Oh, dear lady Nala, your eyes tell a tale of grief and ache. If you ever need a shoulder to rest your head on, I will be there."
Whoa, whoa, whoa—what the fuck!
Is what Zaire thought.
"Absolutely, Sir Messiah. I will keep your generous offer in mind!"
Is what Nala replied.
Zaire's face darkened.
Yep. Something is absolutely—like abso-fucking-lutely—amiss.
The fat fellow made some elaborate medieval bow and smiled.
Zaire saw the smile. It was disgusting. Absolutely sleazy.
Mentally, Zaire muttered,
Bot, is this guy a champion or something?
[I AM BUT A CREATION OF THE TITAN COMMANDER ATLAS. I CANNOT PERCEIVE THE MECHANISMS OF OTHER GODS, OLYMPIANS, OR EVEN OTHER TITANS.]
Bot, tell me this: is my skill 'Perseverance' good against, you know, mental or hypnotic shit?
[ABSOLUTELY. AS THE DESCRIPTION SUGGESTS, THE SKILL STRENGTHENS YOUR MENTAL FORTITUDE. THUS, IT SERVES AS A DEFENSIVE MEASURE AGAINST, AS YOU PUT IT, 'MENTAL OR HYPNOTIC SHIT.']
You're a good bot, dude. You know what? Maybe—mind you, I said maybe—I'm not that against the skill. But relay my original message to Atlas nonetheless.
[ABSOLUTELY. AND THANK YOU.]
After the brief mental conversation with Bot—that's the name Zaire had come up with—he straightened his back.
He had to act his ass off now.
Messiah—eugh, Zaire hated calling him that—probably had a skill that at least gave off a great impression, regardless of his tasteless everything.
And if that was what the Great Messiah Ate wanted, that was exactly what Little Zaire would give.
Zaire smiled flatteringly and chimed into the conversation between Nala and Messiah,
"Sir, you're an amazing fellow. I mean, color me impressed—you've already set up a pseudo-militia. You're really trailblazing a proper resistance to this apocalypse."
Messiah's eyes lit up.
Oh, he loved flattery.
"Of course, of course. And you know what, Ser? I am but a human with ambition, great devices, and opportunity. And my aim is to save as many people as I can."
"HAHAHA, that's so, so... inspiring. Isn't it, Nala?"
Nala smiled and nodded.
Oh, bless her heart!
Zaire's eyes quickly turned serious. In a deep and earnest tone, he asked,
"Sir, what do you plan next?"
Messiah's eyebrows tensed—wrinkles apparent on his forehead.
"I don't know, Ser. Of course, my main aim is to break into the city. With you two, we have sixteen people in The League. We've sent a couple of our members to scout and search for alternate routes to the city. Hopefully, they return with good news."
Zaire smiled. He had some very important news he could share.
He glanced at his stat sheet:
[ZAIRE ZONTES - THE GAIAN CHAMPION OF TITAN COMMANDER ATLAS]
[LEVEL 1 (10/100)]
[VITALITY - 100/100]
[STRENGTH - 8]
[AGILITY - 10]
[ENDURANCE - 12]
[WILL - 7]
[MAGIKE - 2 (1 regeneration per hour). CURRENT: 2/2]
[SKILLS:]
[PERSEVERANCE (LEVEL 3) - Increases mental resolve against tribulations. Provides resistance to overwhelming emotionality. Directly increases WILL upon leveling up. (Passive)]
[TERRA BULLET (LEVEL 2) - Bullets made of Magike. 1 Magike to create, 1 to launch. (Active)]
[BLOOD OF ATLAS (LEVEL 1) - Grants a trace of Primordial Titan power. Extremely destructive; advised for use only as a last resort. Vitality drops to 1 upon use. Current duration: 5 seconds. (Active)]
[RESOLUTION (LEVEL 1) - Increases physical capacity to withstand tribulations. Directly increases ENDURANCE upon leveling up. (Passive)]
He had killed ten beasts so far. Each time, he felt a strange energy invade him.
It was the good kind. It strengthened him.
It was probably the same for everybody.
It was a gamble he was willing to take.
"Sir, every time I've killed a beast, I've felt this weird energy seep into me. Maybe if we kill enough... we evolve?"