*PLEASE NOTE THAT I'VE ONLY WRITTEN 5 CHAPTERS SO FAR; I WONT UPDATE IN A WHILE. JUST POSTING THESE CHAPTERS TO FIGURE OUT HOW THIS APP WORKS IN A WRITING SENSE. THINK OF IT AS A TEST RUN FOR NOW. THANK YOU FOR UPSTANDING! <3*
The air was heavy with anticipation. The villagers, still reeling from the miracle Michael had just performed, stood at the entrance of the temple, staring at the shifting river. Their disbelief was giving way to something else—hope. But it was fragile, like glass on the edge of a blade. It needed to be nurtured.
Michael's awareness stretched outward, still anchored in the stone statue. He could feel their thoughts, their doubts, their fleeting hopes. The act of diverting the river had been a minor one, but it had been enough. The villagers were already starting to talk, the promise of salvation crackling in the air. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
A murmur broke the silence, and Baret's voice reached Michael's mind.
"That was... incredible," Baret said, his voice rough, a mix of awe and disbelief. The blacksmith stood at the head of the group, staring at the river as the waters now flowed in their new course. "We've had to fight against the river for seasons now. We thought we were doomed."
The others nodded, their faces lit with cautious optimism. Yet, even as the villagers stood in wonder, Michael's thoughts turned inward. He had done what was needed—pulled the river from its destructive path—but he still had more to do. More to prove.
Baret turned slowly, his weathered face meeting Michael's stone gaze. "It's clear now," he said, almost to himself. "We need a strong warrior. We need a leader... someone who can stand beside us when the world threatens to break. Someone who has the strength to protect us." His eyes flicked down to the statue at his feet.
Michael felt a pulse of understanding. This was it. The moment had arrived.
It wasn't just about pulling the river away. It was about gaining a foothold in this world, about solidifying his presence. And the villagers weren't the only ones who needed to grow stronger. He needed champions. He needed a Saint.
Baret, a blacksmith turned forgemaster, was a man of action. A former militia captain, his strength was known far and wide. But what made him truly special was his leadership, his ability to rally the people when all seemed lost. A man like that could be a strong foundation for the god he was becoming.
Michael reached out, not physically, but with intent. He felt the pulse of the Faith Points flowing in and out of him, each point a thread woven into the tapestry of his power. The villagers—his followers—were essential, but Baret was something else. The blacksmith had felt it, too. The sense of purpose. The shift in the air.
Michael's divine connection to the world was thin, but it was growing stronger by the day. He could see it in the villagers' eyes—the way their belief in him had solidified with each passing moment. But now he needed someone to take that belief further. To carry it.
A Saint.
The system chimed inside Michael's mind, offering him the prompt again.
Saint Creation Module Activated.
Michael closed his eyes, focusing. He could feel the system's options—there was no choice. He needed Baret. And for a moment, he allowed himself to appreciate the irony. A blacksmith. A man who forged weapons and tools, now about to be forged into something greater.
He focused on the interface, and a set of choices appeared. There were conditions to be met. A Saint must believe in him, must be capable of leadership, must be willing to accept the Divine Link.
Baret had already proven all of these things.
Michael felt a surge of power as the system confirmed his choice.
Saint Candidate Chosen: Baret Orlan.
A thread of power shot through the air, a pulse that rang in Michael's consciousness like the strike of a hammer on an anvil. Baret's body tensed, his eyes narrowing as the connection was made. His breath hitched.
"Do you feel that?" Baret's voice was raw, his hands trembling slightly. He reached down to grip the sword at his side, his fingers curling around the hilt of a weapon Michael had not noticed before.
It wasn't just any weapon. It was the sword.
Nyxveil.
The very blade Michael had carried in his past life.
The sword had been his constant companion, an extension of his being, a perfect synthesis of eastern and western weapon styles. It had been forged from meteoric iron, a rare alloy strong enough to cut through the very fabric of space itself. Its obsidian-black sheen had shimmered with a violet glow in the light, a beauty tempered by deadly precision. The crossguard, with its seven notches, was a symbol of the weapon disciplines Michael had mastered.
Nyxveil had been his greatest achievement. His masterpiece. A weapon not just of destruction, but of intent—every cut was a message, every swing a declaration of mastery.
And now, it was here. In Baret's hands.
Michael's heart—a strange sensation in his stone prison—skipped a beat. He knew that the sword was more than a weapon. It was a symbol of his past. A bridge between the man he had been and the god he was becoming. If Baret wielded it, it meant something. It meant Baret had chosen to wield not just steel, but Michael's legacy.
Baret's grip tightened on the hilt, and he looked at Michael's stone form with reverence. "This... this is your weapon, isn't it?" he asked, his voice hushed.
Michael didn't speak. He didn't need to. The connection between them was already established. The bond had been forged. The divine link was complete.
Baret stood straighter, the weight of the moment settling over him. "I accept," he said quietly. "I will be your Saint."
Michael felt a rush of power, a deep well of energy that surged through the bond. Baret had accepted the link, his belief in Michael now cemented. And with it came a surge of Faith Points.
Faith Points Gained: +1,000New Daily Faith Yield: 1,000 FP.
The system's prompt flashed in Michael's mind.
Saint Creation Complete.Baret Orlan has been chosen as your first Saint.Your Divine Rank has increased.Divine Kingdom Module Unlocked.You now have the power to shape your Divine Kingdom.
Michael's thoughts whirled. His first Saint. A warrior. A protector.
But even as he felt the weight of the new power, the burden of leadership settled in his chest. Baret was only the first. There would be others—others who would challenge his authority, others who would test his resolve. But for now, Baret was all he needed. The village would rally behind him.
And with Baret as his Saint, Michael's divine influence would spread faster than ever.
Baret nodded once, his eyes dark with the weight of the decision he had just made. He placed Nyxveil in front of him, lowering the tip to the ground in an act of respect. "I will serve you well," he said simply, his voice heavy with determination.
Michael could feel the weight of Baret's words. They were more than an oath—they were a pact.
The villagers, still standing at the edge of the temple, began to murmur among themselves. Michael could feel the change in the air. Baret's acceptance had rippled through the crowd. They saw the blacksmith's conviction. They felt his faith.
The first step had been taken.
The road ahead was uncertain, but Michael could sense the growing pull of power. The foundations were set, the divine links made.
And now, it was time to build.
Michael's mind turned once more to the future. His Divine Kingdom awaited. A realm where his power would grow. A place he would shape with his own hands. A place that would be his—and Baret's. The beginning of a new reign.
But for now, Michael's stone form remained still. His statue, his anchor, was all he had.
For now.