He writhed as the heat grew stronger until it wasn't painful at all. He was lying on the floor, breathing heavily, and Leheen went to pick him up and take him inside the house.
The entire population of the city of Arel was searching through the ruins of their homes, mourning the dead and looking for anything that could be salvaged from all they had lost so they could start rebuilding.
Aryn finally woke up, feeling very weak. Still, he was desperate to get up again. The memories of what had happened earlier haunted him, and he wanted to get out of bed because staying still stressed him out. He sat up on the bed and put one foot on the floor.
“No, no, Aryn. Just stay there, just go back to bed,” Leheen said.
She was the only one left in the house because Erivertz and Casia were the priests in charge of purifying the dead and handling the funeral process. They were out walking around, trying to calm people down amid the pure chaos and the sour ambience of death that surrounded them.
“Oh my God, I am so glad you're alive, Aryn. I thought an arrow had passed through your body when you fell down.” She then tried to run her hands over his body until she touched a sensitive spot on his left rib.
“Ow!” said Aryn, and Leheen pulled her hand back a little at his reaction.
“Does it hurt too much?” Leheen asked as she examined his skin. The mark wasn't apparent at first glance, but upon closer inspection, it became noticeable.
On Aryn's left rib was a mark in the shape of a sun. It was just a bit darker than the rest of his skin, as if he were a pig that had been branded many years ago.
Suddenly, someone started knocking very loudly on the house's front door. Again and again. Leheen went downstairs to open it and found a royal messenger standing at the entrance with a spear in his hand. He wore a hat and was dressed in blue garments, along with a sort of skirt that reached just above his knees.
“How can I help you?”
“I was told the new king was resting in this house. It is my job to take him to the castle now.”
“The new… king? Has the king died?”
“I came not to speak about that.”
Even though he refused to say it, Leheen could figure it out.
The messenger continued “So, the new king must go to the castle and speak with the castellan. I was told his name is Aryn.”
Upon hearing the name, she understood what was happening, but a wave of confusion followed.
Aryn, the dick girl, is the new king?
Still, being as easygoing as she was, she agreed with the messenger and told him to wait a moment while she went upstairs to get Aryn.
Aryn was still lying there, asleep, just as Leheen had told him to. She ran into the room, put her hands on his body, and shook him.
“Aryn, wake up! You have to go!”
“What?” He was still exhausted and barely had enough energy to lift his head off the bed. “What for?”
“Apparently, you're the new king, so we should get going.”
“Haha, stop joking, Leheen, and let me sleep.” Aryn smiled at Leheen as he laid his head down again.
***
At the highest point of a hill, a marble path led to the castle of the now deceased king of Aral. Behind it lay a forest, its trees surrounding the castle's high walls. The sight haunted the three of them as they approached, knowing that the luxury and majesty before them was now vacant of its true owner.
The man who had sought peace had died because of the very war he had tried so hard to avoid.
After passing through many halls inside the castle and seeing the gloomy faces of the soldiers walking around, the messenger led Aryn and Leheen into the keep, where the castellan was waiting.
“What are these girls doing here?” asked the castellan.
She was a woman with short, straight orange hair, wearing armor and a red cape that covered her back. She sat at her desk with an imposing look. Her entire body was muscular. Even though her armor covered most of her body, her arm muscles and thick legs were visible. Her muscular frame didn't keep her from having a nice, feminine body.
“It's the king and his companion.” said the messenger.
“Are you telling me that the king of Aral is that scrawny girl? That can't be.”
The castellan quickly walked over to Aryn and lifted his robe.
“Only the one bearing the king's mark can…”
She stared at Aryn's bulge beneath his underwear. The mark was on his left rib.
“So it is true.” The castellan blushed as she lowered his robe. “My apologies for doubting you, sir, but we have no time to lose. Since you are the new king of Aral, it is my duty to inform you about the state of the war so you can make a decision.”
The castellan explained everything to Aryn and Leheen. As the information hit them like a bucket of cold water, Leheen grew interested while Aryn's fear increased. She explained the demon and angel races, how their classes were divided, and what their nature was like in war.
Demonic troops can be described as reckless, sadistic and fast. They rely mainly on their tremendous brute force to carry and swing heavy weapons in one hand, like hammers, clubs and spears.
Most of their troops are terrestrial, and move around on infernal creatures to increase the impact of their attacks. The knights of Arel are trained to defeat demons by outsmarting them with their refined sword technique and winning by numbers.
On the other hand, angels are less prone to hand to hand combat. They usually attack from the sky with their light magic spells, meaning that wizards in Arel are distributed around the entire country casting barriers to protect the air.
There is one major weakness in their defenses. As fireballs have no magic energy in them, they pass through the barrier with no problem, destroying anything it falls on. Apparently this could be solved by building a wall when the third king of Chanderay, Than’Zur, directed an expedition to the new world with uknown intentions two years ago.
The king of Arel, Seett’Ha decided not to build anything, as distrust may be the bane of the three region’s peace.
“The prophecy says that the artifact is hidden somewhere in the new world, and the one bearing the mark will retrieve it to stop the war,” said the castellan. “It is our only chance.”
Suddenly, the castellan's expression changed to a nervous stare.
“Huh? What was that? So you called me here to tell me I don't have to do anything?”
“No…” She looked away. “At least not at the beginning. I mean, this has to be a mistake. I was expecting maybe a level 20 knight at least, but a level one? And a priest?” She started laughing. “This has to be fate's bad joke.”
As she laughed, Aryn remembered the times he had spent in situations like this, watching other people laugh without understanding why. Were they laughing at him? Even so, he couldn't remember the last time he had been happy enough to laugh. Seeing someone blatantly laughing at him awakened something inside him.
“It… mistake,” Aryn mumbled.
“What? I can't hear your little level one voice.”
“It is not a mistake,” Aryn answered.
“Really?” The tall castellan looked down at him. “How is a priest going to use a sword?”
The castellan was right. Aryn had selected the priest class to live a tranquil life, but now that his first awakening had given him the king's mark, he had to complete the mission or he would die when the timer ran out. The contradiction was killing him.
“Mwah, mwah, mwah! Have a nice life!”
That lady in the office really fucked me up. But lamenting over what happened won't fix anything. I chose reincarnation because I wanted a peaceful life. Well then, I only have to get it myself.
“I don't know yet. But I will do it. Retrieving the divine relic and saving the world is my mission, and I won't back down from it.”
The castellan wheezed with laughter so hard that it sounded like a car drifting.
“You can't be serious! You caaaan't! Aaaaaahhh, ahh, ah!”
“What's so funny?” Aryn clenched his fists.
“You are funny… ahh.” The castellan wiped tears from her eyes. “It is very hard to believe, but the prophecy says you are the one. I don't believe it. That is why you should just go home.”
“I won't go home,” Aryn answered.
“Well then, since you are so stubborn about becoming the one to retrieve the divine relic, I will test you.”
“What type of test?”
“We are going to have a fight. A swordfight. You have one year to become a decent swordsman. If I defeat you, the two of you will become my slaves.”
“What?!” Leheen interrupted. “And what if he wins?”
She sighed. “You're never going to win. The probability is so small that I can bet anything.” She flashed a smug smile. “How about this? If you manage to defeat me, I will give you my virginity. Sounds good?”
“You're on!” Leheen immediately extended her hand to the castellan, who shook it with a slightly uncomfortable expression.
“Oh… alright,” she said. Then she extended her hand to Aryn, who shook it with a determined gaze.