There are very few things more terrifying than being handed authority you never asked for. One of them is being handed a steaming bowl of Darkroot Stew and being told it's sacred.
That's how my day started. And no, I hadn't died again—though the stew definitely tried.
It all began when the guild handed me a sealed letter stamped with holy wax and too many ribbons. Apparently, a village to the east—Lutetia or Lunaria or some other name that sounds like a flower arrangement—was suffering from a "holy corruption."
I read the words "curse," "divine affliction," and "urgent need of an envoy," then looked at the receptionist.
"You're sending me because...?"
She didn't look up from her tea. "You're the closest thing we have to a holy figure. You survived a cursed dungeon and didn't die. That makes you overqualified."
"That was an accident."
"Miracles often are."
I briefly considered quitting adventuring and becoming a wandering bread critic. Instead, I packed up, grabbed my artifact (which still hissed at me occasionally), and set off.
The village came into view late in the afternoon—gray rooftops, wilting trees, and a thick mist clinging to the ground like an unpaid tax. Ominous, check. Quiet, double check. Birds? Nowhere to be found. Never a good sign.
I crossed the wooden bridge and was immediately greeted by thirty villagers, dressed in ceremonial robes and holding banners.
The head villager stepped forward with wide eyes and an even wider bow.
"Welcome, O Harbinger of Judgment!"
"Oh gods," I whispered. "They think I'm someone else again."
"You must be exhausted from your sacred travels," he continued. "Please, this way—your quarters have been prepared with holy linen, three pillows, and smoked turnips."
They marched me toward the temple like I was royalty. Or bait.
I tried to explain. "Look, I think there's been a mistake. I'm not really—"
"The humble voice of a true emissary," the villager said, nodding sagely. "The modesty of a blade forged in divinity."
I internally screamed.
The temple was an old stone structure with faded murals, cracked columns, and just the faintest scent of despair. Hooded priests lined the halls, bowing as I passed. Their eyes were dull. Their chants were off-rhythm. One guy sneezed in the middle of a psalm.
I was led to a banquet hall where a feast awaited: bowls of Darkroot Stew (which twitched), Blessed Goat Cheese (why was it sweating?), and Lightbringer's Wine (glowed faintly blue).
I poked the stew. It poked back.
"This is all... very generous," I said, eyeing my food like it owed me money.
The High Priest appeared, draped in gold and black robes with an ornate staff that had way too many skulls for a Light temple.
He spread his arms. "Eat, Blessed One. May Umbr—ahem, the Light, fill your belly."
I took the smallest sip of wine and immediately got a system notification:
[
Status Effect: Mild Hallucination Duration: 4 hours
]
Great.
Things got worse after dinner.
They brought me to the front altar, where a crowd of villagers had gathered.
"Please," said the High Priest, gesturing to the raised dais, "share with us the wisdom of your divine journey."
My brain went blank. They were all staring. One old woman was clutching prayer beads like her life depended on my words.
In a panic, I blurted:
"Even if we're defeated a hundred times, we'll rise again with the burning passion of youth!"
A quote. From an anime. About volleyball.
The crowd gasped. One man fell to his knees. A woman fainted. A child started crying tears of joy.
"Such fire..." someone whispered. "The gods speak through him."
I wanted to die. Again.
I was still reeling when they handed me a baby.
"Bless him, Prophet," they urged.
I held the baby like it was an unstable potion. "Uh... be well, small mortal."
It immediately peed on me.
Gasps echoed through the temple.
"The mark of purity," the priest murmured. "He has been accepted."
As I retreated to my guest quarters, they gave me a ceremonial cloak.
It was three sizes too big, covered in embroidered symbols that didn't match any known god, and reeked of something between mildew and wet dog.
I didn't even take it off. I just collapsed into the bed and prayed—ironically—that this was all a dream.
At some point past midnight, I woke up sweating. Not just from the cloak. The room was... humming. Not metaphorically. Actually humming.
I followed the sound, wandering barefoot through cold temple halls lit by flickering torchlight.
Eventually, I found a sealed stone door partially cracked open. Behind it, a circular chamber pulsed with unnatural energy.
Symbols—lots of symbols—lined the floor in chalk. None of them matched. One was definitely upside down.
And in the center? A pedestal with a black crystal orb.
I was about to nope out when a voice said, "Ah, there you are."
The High Priest stood behind me, smiling like someone who knew where the bodies were buried.
"Would you... care to observe the next sacred rite?"
I swallowed. "I'd rather be unconscious."
He didn't laugh. He just gestured. "Tomorrow, then. It shall be... enlightening."
....
Kaname returns to his room, now fully certain he's walked into a cult. He begins drafting a letter to the guild:
Dear Management,
This is not a holy mission. This is a hostage situation.
Also, I might have a new title. Please advise.