053. Interlude, Zolast

053. Interlude, Zolast

Zolast didn't remember the last time he felt this conflicted

No, that was a bald-faced lie. No, he still remembered his greatest conflict, when he had learned the truth about the System and the Gods, confused about what to do with the truth not that he had handled it well, ending up with a curse from the god he served, an excommunication from the temple he lived, and an order of death from the comrades he had fought together

He chose poorly, and ended up on the other side of the world, at the edge of the world where they would never seek him, consigned to live ignobly until he died of natural causes, as the wilderness was not really dangerous to him, not even with the curse that turned him to a shadow of himself.

He was resigned to languishing in a life of nothingness, managing a small restaurant, acting as a chef only for a Chaos Incursion to happen at a spitting distance, forcing him to join the exodus of refugees. He deliberately let himself kicked into one of the least organized camps, hoping to drift away

He realized he wasn't the only one that picked that route.

Euon, or whatever his name was, was the source of his current conflict.

He hadn't paid much attention to him the first time he had visited his poor food cart. Just another refugee, an old man, down on his luck, wearing rags, without support, destined to drift along. Zolast quickly forgot him, most of his attention on the way the camp had been transforming.

The growth of the gangs had caught him by surprise. He hadn't been expecting them to grow that fast, nor had he expected them to strong-arm others in such a visible fashion. But with the young noble who was supposed to rule the camp acting even more passively than a usual noble, some of them saw the opportunity, and soon, Zolast found himself without a guard.

Even with the curse impairing him, he had the ability to strike back but not while hiding his class. He never had been a particularly strong melee fighter, and with the curse sapping his abilities, he was even weaker.

When he was confronted by the Blacks, he found himself in a sticky situation. He had no intention of allowing a bunch of thugs to treat him like a slave, but revealing his abilities had other consequences

It was when things devolved. The man whom Zolast had written off as a helpless refugee showed that he was nothing but helpless as he took down the thugs, shocking him in the process.

Zolast wasn't surprised by the physical capabilities he had displayed. No, while they were impressive compared to most in the camp, ultimately, the camp was filled with farmers, servants, and other worker classes, and not even particularly strong examples of such.New novel chapters are published on

It was the smaller details that captured his attention. The way he positioned himself, the way he intimidated them, the way he delivered orders aftermath

The way he chose to collect the silver that was needed for the Leveling Ward didn't help him to understand the truth. It had been three days since that fateful event when Zolast revealed to him his great need for silver if they were to establish an independent ward, fully expecting him to reveal more of himself if he tried to do so. He was sure that their camp didn't have that much unused silver, meaning he would have to reach other contacts if he had any or accept the impossibility of the objective.

Either way, it would help Zolast.

He hadn't been expecting the insurmountable problem he had created to be solved in just hours. It was surprising when he established a gambling ring, especially with the rumors about his disastrous ability. That didn't surprise Zolast much, as he wouldn't be the only capable man who ruined himself due to a misunderstanding about his capabilities.

So, he was rather surprised when, in just a few hours, not only he managed to establish a gambling operation, but also managed to hit other gangs rather hard when they tried to cheat him. Only then Zolast realized the earlier disaster had been a bait one that worked spectacularly, giving him an excuse to go and shake the Reds and the Blacks, both revealing the possession of more silver than Zolast expected them to have.

He underestimated the gangs, and that resulted in huge overwork. It had been three days since then, and he was still working on the creation of the array.

"How the mighty have fallen," he muttered, looking at the almost-completed low-grade array in front of him. Before the curse, it would have taken mere minutes to create such a weak array, and now, three days of dedicated work was barely enough.

Still, he carefully listened to the gossip in the camp during the breaks, tracking the changes. Jertann had been working hard to help people gather the necessary experience for promotion, ready to go once the ward was complete.

A critical need, with the monsters' attacks getting more and more intense.

Yet, Zolast was paying more attention to what the old man was doing, focused on his gambling operation more than the security of the camp, at least on the surface, but Zolast heard him intervening in conflicts between the Reds and the Blacks several times, resolving things to the benefit of the Blues, yet without dismantling them.

His objectives were still as mysterious as his identity and his abilities

Not that he could blame him, he thought even as he called his status screen.

[Class: High Priest

Level: 100]