Chapter 80: Support

Corpses.

Bodies everywhere.

Despite his best efforts, countless lives were vanishing before his eyes.

This sense of futility, of “failing to save more than those who died,” was enough to drive anyone mad.

John was only human.

He felt fatigue, helplessness, and above all, confusion.

What was worse, and what hurt him the most… was that the number of people kneeling beside Io, worshipping her as a “God-given Angel,” was steadily increasing.

Even the refugees who had been saved and given a moment to breathe mostly joined the ranks of the faithful once they recovered.

The sound of their pious, repetitive chanting hummed incessantly like a swarm of gnats.

John knew in his heart that this was the last thing Io would have wanted.

However, the will of the faithful never wavered based on the will of a god.

A god was merely a fantasy created by the believers.

In this endless torrential rain, the rescued commoners desperately needed a spiritual anchor.

And that anchor was none other than Io, who had personally calmed the raging floods and performed a shocking miracle.

This phenomenon was driven both by spontaneous worship and by religious fanatics fanning the flames.

The old believer who had initially led the prayers had now become Io’s most fanatical follower.

He skillfully utilized standard religious rhetoric, integrating the “Goddess’s Prayer” and modifying it slightly until it became the Scripture of Io.

Among Io’s two close friends, Sara remained immersed in grief, unable to look after anything else.

Parker, on the other hand, had been accused of being cold-blooded, heartless, and disloyal to the Saintess Io because he acted too rationally.

Ostracized by the believers, he was forced into a self-imposed “exile” and came to the Hero’s side.

“I’m sorry, Lord Hero.”

He still held that Magic Book tightly, looking down with a bitter smile.

“I failed. I thought everyone would calm down once they had vented their emotions and return to the way things were when Io was still here.”

“But I didn’t expect… when Io was alive, they wanted her to be their backbone; now that she’s dead, they want her to be their god.”

“Everyone is just too lost.”

John set down a couple he had been carrying on his shoulders, a flash of coldness and anger crossing his brow.

“If I hadn’t seen the military maps before, I would’ve truly thought the lord in charge of this region was dead! What on earth are they doing?!”

Parker offered a quiet word of comfort.

“It’s normal. All border territories are like this. Whether they are managed well or poorly depends entirely on the local lord’s conscience.”

“Is there no way to restrain them?”

“How?” Parker threw up his hands, his expression one of weary familiarity.

“From the top down? Those at the top want even more; they have greater ambitions and deeper greed. From the bottom up? Ha… four fully armed elite combatants would be enough to slaughter all several thousand of us refugees.”

His expression was calm, yet he couldn’t hide his exhaustion.

He rubbed his temples, his eyes clouded with a gray despondency that suggested his heart was already dead.

“Lord Hero, in truth, there are many ‘Dust People’ in the Empire who cannot survive, and quite a few who rise up in resistance. It’s just that most are like eggs hitting a stone, ending in total destruction… You won’t see it, and you certainly won’t hear about it.”

John was momentarily speechless. After a long silence, he could only let out a deep, long sigh.

The ranks of the believers grew day by day.

The number of floating corpses on the river increased.

The sky was neither dark nor light, with hidden stars and a lonely moon hanging on the border between dreams and wakefulness.

The morning sun leaked its light early, yet it could not climb out of the thick locks of clouds and mist.

Out of the corner of his eye, John suddenly spotted a majestic ship sailing through the rain.

His eyes lit up instantly.

Thinking it was a rescue team sent by the local lord, he rushed forward in joy.

…However, in the next second, he saw the ship ignore the cries for help from those drowning.

It plowed through the waves slowly, sailing toward the distance.

John’s blood pressure spiked.

He immediately activated Overdrive and rescued two drowning people.

He leaped onto the great ship, the heavy sound of his landing shaking the entire vessel.

Yet, it failed to wake the handsome men and beautiful women sprawled out in drunken sleep across the deck.

“Who goes there?!”

The guarding soldiers were immediately alerted.

They drew their blades and surrounded John in triple-layered circles.

Although they were dressed in plain clothes, John only needed one glance to recognize the Official Valoran Longswords in their hands—the standard-issue weapon of the City Guard.

“Who is in charge of this ship? I want to discuss a small matter with him.”

John’s grim expression was hidden by his visor.

He suppressed his voice, trying to make his tone sound as peaceful as possible.

Hearing this, the guard captain raised his chin arrogantly.

“What kind of thing do you think you are, to be worthy of meeting my Master Arthur—”

Before he could finish his sentence, no one saw how John moved.

The guard captain was sent flying backward.

His light leather armor shattered into over forty pieces, yet there wasn’t a single wound on his body.

The guards, who had been aggressive just a moment ago, were suddenly too terrified to move.

John looked around at them and said slowly, “Actually, I don’t necessarily have to discuss it with you.”

The deputy guard scrambled to the bow of the ship.

He ran to a naked young man lying spread-eagled and tried everything—pinching his philtrum and squeezing his nose—until he finally managed to wake him up.

The young man waved a hand dizzily, mumbling in a drunken stupor.

“Hic~ beauties… why did you stop? Keep the music going! Keep dancing!”

The deputy shook him with a mournful face.

“Young Master, Young Master, please wake up! If you don’t wake up, we’ll all be dancing for the God of the Underworld!”

The young man rubbed his eyes and looked around blankly, still not quite conscious.

“What’s wrong?”

The deputy shot him a look and nudged his chin toward the Hero.

The young man understood instantly.

He stood up immediately and walked toward John with a face full of smiles, reaching out his hand for a handshake.

Halfway there, he realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

He stopped awkwardly and hurriedly picked up a fur coat to drape over himself.

“Friend, I am the young master of the Langyi-Yogul Family—Hereditary Earls of nearby Brighta City. You can call me Arthur. Is there something I can help you with? If it’s not urgent, why don’t you come inside for a drink?”

“Oh, those people on the ground are my new wives and concubines. If you see one you like, take your pick! Don’t be shy!”

John couldn’t listen any longer and interrupted him.

“I am requisitioning your ship for a while. Your people too. Help me salvage the drowning refugees… I can pay rent.”

Arthur froze, then grinned.

“You’re quite polite. No need for rent. Let’s just call it making a friend.”

“No,” John shook his head.

“I am not a bandit. The rent will be whatever it should be.”

“You’re far too particular. How about this, let’s make sure neither of us takes advantage of the other. According to market price, for every ‘head’ you sell, I take a twenty percent cut. Is that fair?”

Arthur smiled as if this were common practice.

John could hardly believe his ears.

“What ‘head’?”

“Selling… selling a head…”

Arthur suddenly felt a hint of dread.

He asked cautiously, “Could it be that you’re salvaging these useless Dust People for some reason other than… to sell them?”

“…”

“…”

Half a minute later.

Arthur was tied up with rope, emitting panicked muffled sounds as he hung from the mast.

The remaining guards were also sprawled across the deck, all having been knocked unconscious.

In the end, he hadn’t been able to hold back.

John looked down at the great ship, which he absolutely could not operate alone.

A wave of intense frustration and helplessness washed over him.

He laughed mockingly at himself.

In that moment, a sense of unprecedented fatigue and loneliness rose in his heart.

It felt as if no one could help him.

It felt as if no one was on his side.

He met a noble who was less than human.

He met a group of Dust People who only cared about praying to a god.

He met a companion, only for that companion’s life to be as fleeting as a falling flower.

Perhaps he truly was a bringer of calamity.

‘If only Lily were here… if only Lily were here…’ John’s lips trembled slightly.

He suddenly missed the days when Lily would sprawl across his chest.

He wanted to talk to someone.

He wanted to talk to anyone who trusted him and needed him—even if it was just a Pupu.

“Hey! Friend! Friend!”

…Was he hallucinating?

“Friend! Friend!”

It wasn’t until the calls rang out again that John realized it wasn’t an illusion.

He looked toward the rear-right in stunned surprise—as if a dream were coming true.

On the river in the distance, a strange fleet slowly approached as the morning sun rose.

Those ships were entirely made of Pupus, appearing like magical creations stepped out of a fairy tale.

The people steering the ships were all familiar faces: the townsfolk, Roye, and his teacher, Jonathan.

And on the unique Pupu Battleship at the very front, he saw Lily.

The pink, cute little thing was waving her arms vigorously toward him from afar, jumping high, very high…