The group entered the village with caution.
From a distance, its imposing walls gave the impression of a powerful fortress; however, once they passed through the gates, the reality was far less impressive.
The houses were simple: mostly wooden or stone structures, with a few cracked concrete buildings scattered here and there. The streets were paved with worn cobblestones, weathered by time.
It was hard to gauge the world's technological level—a strange blend of ancient and modern. While they still relied on lamps and rudimentary homes, the walls had makeshift lifts; some soldiers carried bolt-action rifles, while others wielded medieval weapons.
Despite being "heroes" sent by the gods, their arrival drew no cheers, not even curiosity. The few passersby barely glanced at them, a fleeting look of fear flashing in their eyes before they turned away and went on with their business.
The streets were eerily quiet. Faint murmurs drifted from inside the houses; when Daion peeked through a few windows, he caught glimpses of people clutching necklaces with small shield-shaped pendants—too distant to make out the details.
When the suns finally dipped below the horizon, the already somber atmosphere grew heavier. Daion spotted a man walking down the streets with a long pole, lighting the streetlamps one by one.
The rest of the group seemed oblivious to the tension. They laughed and chatted as if nothing were amiss, clearly used to it. All except Finn, who walked with his head down, dragging his feet beside Daion, avoiding the villagers' eyes.
The tension in the air thickened… until a sharp laugh broke the silence. Daion turned his head.
In a nearby alley, a group of children were playing. But their "toys" were old helmets, rusted rifles, and dull spears—real weapons, though they treated them as if they were harmless.
Noticing Daion's interest, Jack stopped beside him. At first, the children didn't seem aware of their presence, pretending to fire unloaded rifles, wearing helmets like crowns, and spreading their arms to mimic monsters. Gradually, though, their laughter faded. One by one, they fixed them with a cold, distrustful stare—unnervingly mature for their age.
One boy, his face dirty and clothes in tatters, stepped forward, gripping a rifle that looked heavier than he was.
"What are you staring at, Summoned?" he asked, voice steady though his hands trembled.
Is he afraid of me? Daion thought, baffled. It didn't make sense… and yet his companions looked away. A pang of shame struck him.
"…Are you all right?" he asked softly.
The children exchanged confused glances. The boy with the rifle lowered it for a moment. Fear flickered in his eyes—but so did resentment.
"Don't say stupid things." His voice wavered, but he forced it to sound harsh. "What do you want? To ruin our lives even more?"
Jack took a slow step toward him, frowning. Before he could speak, the boy raised the rifle again… and pulled the trigger.
The click of an empty chamber echoed in the alley. Daion blinked, startled. When his focus returned, the boy was smirking.
"Heroes?" he spat with bitter mockery. "Yeah, right. Just a bunch of cowards."
He turned to rejoin his friends, but casually tossed a brick over his shoulder. It shot through the air toward Daion. Pure instinct made him duck just in time, feeling the rush of air as it grazed past his head. The boy's laughter rang behind him.
"You should leave," he said coldly. "Bet you came here after abandoning another village."
The group stayed silent, weighed down. Daion clenched his fists—not just at the hostility, but at what he had just witnessed.
Telekinesis…? How the hell did he do that?
But more than that, another thought gnawed at him:
Do they despise us just for being here? Even without us doing anything? This is hate… what did the previous heroes do?
A memory hit him: that hooded man looting corpses with indifference, the village reduced to ruins with no one left to resist… and the words of that god echoing in his mind.
We weren't chosen, and we're not special. Daion tightened his fist. Everyone who came here was picked on a whim by the gods. That just makes us unlucky bastards who died at the right time. None of the reincarnated are heroes.
"Let's go," Jack cut in. "Too much philosophizing isn't good for you."
Daion exhaled and kept walking. The villagers' whispers followed them like ghosts. Jack wore the faintest of smiles. Daion noticed… but chose to ignore it.
After a short walk, they reached what seemed to be a church. Or at least, it should have been.
The massive steel doors, the spiked windows instead of stained glass, the sealed bell tower… nothing about the place felt sacred. A faint, mournful chime rang from within.
Inside, the layout resembled that of a traditional temple: wooden pews, kneelers, and a few worshippers praying in silence. Yet the moment the group stepped in, the prayers stopped. The congregants stood abruptly and left without a word.
Daion swallowed. At the far end of the hall, a priest sat on an elevated platform, silently observing them. Behind him, a massive stained-glass window glowed with the dying light of sunset, depicting a group of radiant gods gathered in an idyllic garden. In the center of the image, Daion instantly recognized someone—dark skin, hair white as snow… the bastard who had brought him here, immortalized in a sacred pose.
They were led into a back room—a reception area with a small waiting lounge. Behind a desk, a pale-skinned woman with dark hair and a few facial scars sorted through documents.
"Wait here. I'm going to collect our reward," Jack said, striding forward without hesitation.
Without another word, he approached the receptionist, who greeted him with a foolishly sweet smile. The rest of the group took seats. Still lost in thought, Daion finally asked:
"Reward?"
Haruka plopped down beside him, leaning against his arm as if they'd been friends forever.
"For the 'Eyes' we killed earlier," she replied casually.
Daion looked up, ignoring her overfamiliarity.
"So we get paid for killing monsters?" he asked, trying to make sense of how this world worked.
"Only if we're hired," Minjae replied, lounging on a sofa with his arms behind his head, "or if the bodies are worth something."
"And who regulates that?" Daion pressed. "I mean, I doubt money just appears out of nowhere."
The group paused, as if it wasn't a question they were often asked.
"The Praise Guild," Minjae answered with lazy indifference, still staring at the ceiling. His nonchalance irritated Daion for some reason. "They handle everything related to the Summoned… or so they say."
Finn, for his part, remained standing, staring at the floor in silence. Daion scanned the room, his mind heavy with everything that had happened. His first day in this world had been a nightmare. Even now, his left arm trembled at the memory of that "bat" sinking its teeth into him. Worst of all, he still didn't understand how this place worked—and that uncertainty left him with a creeping sense of dread.
He let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples.
"Alright..." he muttered, trying to sort out his thoughts. "Can someone please explain to me what the hell is going on? Because, seriously… I have no idea what we're doing here."
The group exchanged glances. After a moment, Haruka was the first to speak. She leaned forward, putting a little space between herself and Daion.
"Well, to put it simply..." her voice took on a seriousness that contrasted with her earlier demeanor. "Do you remember the monsters we fought?"
"No, I conveniently forgot about the monsters that almost killed me twice today," he replied sarcastically. Haruka gave him a mildly irritated look. "I have amnesia, not short-term memory loss."
"Whatever," she cut him off. "They weren't ordinary creatures. They were deformed, unsettling… like something out of a nightmare."
"I'd call them demons," Minjae said quietly, "though the gods call them 'Corrupted.'"
Haruka nodded.
"We don't know exactly why, but they're invading this world. This war has been going on for three hundred years and, despite every effort to stop them…" she paused before finishing, "at this point, ninety percent of the original population is already dead."
Minjae sighed.
"The territory has been reduced to a single peninsula… about forty thousand square kilometers."
A heavy silence settled over the room. For the first time, Daion felt he could truly piece the situation together. This wasn't just a war.
That guy had hinted some of them were intelligent… This was genocide.
"According to what my goddess told me," Haruka went on, "this sort of thing happens all the time in the universe. The Corrupted emerge on healthy planets to consume them. But this planet… for some reason, they couldn't just let it fall. So they started sending humans with certain 'gifts.'"
"That simple?" Daion asked, skeptical.
Haruka gave a faint smirk.
"Sounds like something out of a TV show," Minjae teased.
Daion crossed his arms, scanning the others.
"Any idea what makes this world so special? Something truly worth protecting?"
Silence. No one had an answer. Minjae shrugged.
"Maybe it's just entertainment for the gods. Like an experiment… seeing what a group of humans can do if they're given the right tools."
"Sounds exactly like something an all-powerful being would do," Daion muttered, recalling the smile that god had given him.
But Finn, who had been quiet until then, suddenly spoke up. His voice was unexpectedly firm.
"I disagree," he said with conviction. Everyone turned to look at him. "This world does have something special." He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on Daion. "Remember that kid from earlier? The one who attacked us with the brick?"
Daion nodded.
"Yeah… it was like telekinesis," he replied with mild interest.
"Exactly." Finn narrowed his eyes. "Now tell me… in your world, was there magic?"
"Like I said, amnesia," Daion answered without hesitation. Finn kept staring intently. "But seeing him do that so naturally… yeah, it definitely felt strange." An idea began to take shape in his mind before he finally asked, "Wait… is magic common here?"
Haruka smirked playfully and raised her hand. From the gem on her wrist, a multicolored flame blossomed, casting vibrant hues across her face.
"You tell me."
Finn leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, deep in thought.
"I figured as much… Our gauntlets run on Omega Energy, which can be transmuted into many forms—and that's what people call magic." He paused, frowning. "Though, to be honest, I still don't fully understand what it is."
The others nodded in silence.
"In my world, magic didn't exist. Same for Haruka and Minjae," he went on, gesturing toward them. Daion thought he saw where this was going, but stayed quiet, listening. "At first, I figured it must be extremely rare. But then Jack mentioned something… in his world, there were sorcerers."
"Yeah, but he said they were incredibly rare… and treated almost like gods," Finn explained. "Here, on the other hand, every single person has the ability to use magic—or rather, Omega Energy."
Daion frowned. The forest creatures… now that he thought about it, they were undeniably mystical.
"So that means there's a massive concentration of Omega Energy in this world…" he deduced, a look of fascination crossing his face.
"Exactly." Finn's expression grew serious. "And that's why it's so important."
At last, something makes sense… a genocide driven by resource scarcity, he thought.
"The monsters feed on it… drain it, leaving the land barren and lifeless," Minjae added, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.
The gods must have known about this world's immense energy… and that was why they couldn't afford to lose it.
But something didn't add up. Daion frowned.
"If this world is so important… why don't the gods intervene directly?" Silence. "Do they work in mysterious ways?" he added with sarcasm.
Finn looked away, and an uncomfortable tension settled over the group. Finally, Haruka sighed, shrugging.
"That's the million-dollar question."
"Maybe… they can lose," Minjae broke the silence with a grim theory. Finn turned toward him with a sharp look.
"And if that's the case… what chance do we have?"
No one answered. A heavy sense of dread fell over them. Daion clenched his fists. He didn't want to drag the mood down even further… but the thought wouldn't leave his mind.
"Then… what exactly are they?"
Finn looked up.
"Corrupted beings. They take Omega Energy and twist it into a source of power."
Minjae scoffed.
"And they're not all mindless beasts. Some are as intelligent as humans…"
Daion nodded, a faint memory surfacing—hardly more than a blurred image.
"The way they wiped out the population…" Minjae murmured darkly. "It shows they're organized." Finn nodded.
"They even form battalions to raze cities. They don't act like wild animals… they act like an army." The weight of the implications sank in, thickening the air.
"Someone is leading them," Finn continued in a low voice. "And whoever it is… has pushed them to the brink of extinction." His gaze hardened. Daion noticed with interest how he separated them from the summoned heroes. "Even with the champions the gods call upon… most don't survive long."
Daion swallowed.
"A leader? Like… a king or a general?" he asked. Finn crossed his arms.
"That's the most likely scenario. But we don't know if it's a supreme leader or just the commander of this army."
Haruka exhaled, leaning on the table with a wry smile.
"Not exactly the most hopeful revelation… but it's not like we get to choose." She tried to lighten the mood, but failed. The atmosphere grew heavy again.
No one spoke; the weight of reality loomed over them like a storm cloud.
Daion lowered his gaze, frustration bubbling inside him. Not only had he woken with no memories, but everything he'd learned so far pointed to one thing: he was screwed.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence. Jack had returned. The moment he stepped through the door, he scanned their exhausted faces and let out a sigh.
"Well, what a warm welcome," he said with a mocking grin. Then, without hesitation, he tossed a coin pouch to each of them, Daion included—though his was noticeably smaller. Daion caught it midair, frowning.
"What's this?" he asked, puzzled.
"Magic beans, what do you think?" Jack shrugged. "You took one down, so you get a cut."
"But that was just by coincidence," Daion protested, holding the pouch out to return it.
"Keep it. Call it a gift… I'm feeling generous today." Daion hesitated, then lowered his hand and pocketed it.
Not much reason to turn it down, I guess.
"Money's important. Spend it wisely… though honestly, it's not much."
"Uh… thanks, I guess."
Jack chuckled, and despite the tension still hanging in the air, the others couldn't help but crack small smiles. The mood, though still heavy, began to ease.
"All right, enough of this existential crap," Jack declared, slapping the table. "I know exactly how to cheer you up."
Without another word, he stood and headed out of the church. The rest exchanged uncertain looks before following.
By then, night had fully claimed the city. Oil lamps flickered along the streets, casting long, uneasy shadows across the cobblestones. Warm light spilled from windows, and the muffled voices of townsfolk blended with the soft murmur of the wind. Jack led them straight to the only place still bursting with life—Rosie's Haven, the town's sole inn and tavern.
As soon as they stepped through the door, silence fell over the room. It was packed. Men, women, and even a few children darting about all turned to stare at them. Some of the villagers casually rested their hands on the hilts of their weapons, while others narrowed their eyes in open distrust. A couple of them flexed their fingers, a faint glow revealing they were ready to unleash magic at the slightest sign of trouble.
Jack noticed. He simply didn't care. Without breaking stride, he walked straight to the bar.
Behind the counter stood a blonde woman with freckled skin and softly rounded features. Her waist was narrow, but her hips and chest stood out beneath the plain tavern clothes she wore.
Daion glanced at her for a moment, blinked, and shook his head. Not the time to get distracted.
Jack slowly raised his hands, slipping them into his coat. The tension in the room spiked. Several villagers shifted, ready to act. Daion's group tensed as well.
Then Jack pulled out… a coin pouch. In one quick motion, he dropped a couple of gold pieces onto the counter with a solid clink.
"Five drinks."
The tension broke instantly. Murmurs of relief rippled through the tavern, followed by a few nervous laughs… and even some sighs of disappointment. The barmaid gave them a long, scrutinizing look before exhaling.
"Alright, 'heroes,'" she said, drawing out the word with clear irony. "But if you cause even the slightest problem, the alcohol stops flowing."
"Understood, darling," Jack replied with a carefree smile.
Rolling her eyes with mild disgust and disdain, the woman grabbed several mugs and poured their drinks.
"Will you be eating as well?" The group nodded, placing their orders. Daion, however, hesitated.
"What do you recommend?" he asked. The barmaid raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk curling her lips.
"For heroes like you… the 'Divinity Stew.'"
Daion saw Haruka and Finn frantically shaking their heads, their faces showing genuine discomfort.
"On second thought… I'll have whatever Jack's having."
The woman clicked her tongue but took the order without further comment. They found a table, and little by little, the tavern returned to its usual rhythm.
As the drinks flowed and conversation warmed, Jack turned to Daion.
"Quite an entrance you made, huh?" he laughed. "You literally dropped right into our fight and stole our kill."
Daion chuckled, though a bit nervously. He could already feel his body heating up and his vision blurring in an oddly pleasant way.
It wasn't long before the food arrived. The waitress who brought it immediately caught Daion's attention—she had striking blue hair and, atop her head, a pair of feline ears twitched subtly.
A demihuman? That was his first thought. Born from human women and the Corrupted.
She set the plates down with smooth, precise movements. As she turned to leave, Daion noticed a faint mark on her neck, but decided not to ask.
The food was incredible: a thick, juicy cut of meat bathed in a rich, aromatic sauce, served with a side that vaguely reminded him of mashed potatoes. Between bites and sips of his drink, time slipped by without him noticing. For the first time all day, Daion felt like he could breathe.
The alcohol warmed his head, filling him with a faint sense of well-being and making him laugh more and more easily. A fleeting image flashed in his mind: a group of soldiers—himself among them—gathered around a campfire with bottles in hand.
The weight on his chest began to lighten. For a moment, he stopped thinking about his lost memories, the monsters, the war, and the gods. He took another sip. A small, peaceful smile crossed his lips.
It was true—no matter how bad things got, people could still laugh and celebrate on an ordinary night. There was still something worth protecting.
End of chapter 5.