The next morning, I woke up to a nightmare.
Not monsters. Not bandits.
Villagers.
A whole crowd of them standing outside my house, chanting:
"PRAISE THE MUSCLE GOD!"
"BLESS US, PROTEIN KING!"
"All hail Lord Ark, the Child of Abs!"
"…what the f*ck," I muttered, peeking out the window.
Narsh was leaning against my doorframe, smirking like a devil.
"Told you. You revive one old fart, and suddenly you're a god."
I stepped outside and immediately got mobbed.
"Lord Ark! Please flex on my sick cow, maybe it will recover!"
"Bless my crops, Muscle God!"
"Here, touch my baby's forehead with your biceps!"
"W-what the hell!? I'm not a fertility statue!"
---
Narsh was laughing so hard she nearly fell over.
"This is killing me. They're worshipping you like you're some divine protein shake."
"Stop making fun of me!" I groaned, shoving away a granny trying to rub her potatoes on my arm.
"I mean, it fits," Narsh shrugged. "You've been obsessed with muscles since you could walk. Now you're literally the holy dumbbell of the village."
"Holy… dumbbell?" I glared. "Narsh, I swear—"
"Careful, Ark. Swear too much and they'll build you a shrine out of barbells."
I froze. "…Wait, that actually sounds kinda cool."
"NO, YOU IDIOT!"
---
[Author's Note: At this rate, Ark's religion will be called The Church of Gains™.]
---
Later that day, the villagers dragged me to a feast.
I mean, sure, my gym burned down, but apparently saving their lives earned me unlimited roasted boar and Adobo.
Not bad.
But every time I tried to eat, someone interrupted me:
"Lord Ark, bless my knee pain!"
"Lord Ark, can you resurrect my dead goldfish?"
"Lord Ark, touch my muscles so they grow!"
I slammed my fork down. "LISTEN UP! I AM NOT A PRIEST! I'M A MAN WHO TRAINS UNTIL HIS ARMS TURN INTO WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION!"
The villagers gasped. Then they applauded.
"Such divine wisdom!"
"Lord Ark preaches the gospel of sweat!"
"Truly, he is the chosen of the gods!"
Narsh nearly choked on her food from laughing too hard.
"You… idiot…" she wheezed. "They're turning you into a muscle cult leader."
"…I don't mind." I flexed. The villagers fainted in awe.
"IDIOT!!"
---
That's when my father, the village head, finally spoke up.
He had been sitting at the head of the feast table, quietly watching everything unfold.
He sighed so deeply, it sounded like his soul was escaping.
"Ark… my son… I am proud of you for saving the village."
I puffed out my chest. "Thanks, Dad."
"…But can you PLEASE stop turning my villagers into a religion of sweaty lunatics!?"
The crowd gasped.
Narsh snorted.
I frowned. "They're not lunatics. They're… disciples."
"NO, they're idiots!" Father snapped. "Yesterday they asked me if kneeling before a dumbbell counts as prayer!"
"…well, does it?" I asked seriously.
"ARK!!"
Narsh was wheezing again, tears in her eyes from laughing.
"Your dad's right, Ark. You're not a Sage. You're a f*cking cult mascot."
---
And that's how the village of dirt and sweat accidentally gave birth to a new religion.
The Church of Gains.™
Led by Ark, reluctantly.
Monitored by Narsh, furiously.
And tolerated by his poor father, the most tired village head in history.
---