Chapter 32: Divine Favor
Blooming Little Green turned Alan’s entire morning into utter chaos.
If one absolutely had to use a metaphor, it was like waking up to find that the border collie you kept at home had overnight transformed into a whole pack of beagles.
Of course, in front of Alan, Little Green did its utmost to present a well-behaved side of itself.
But the moment Alan looked away, its tangled vines and flower heads would go madly at each other, tearing and thrashing in a frenzy.
Alan had no choice but to scold Little Green for a long time with a severity he had never used before, and—incidentally—went through at least a full gallon of ice-chilled honey fruit drink (why a flowering dragon vine could eat like a teenage boy was probably something only Veles and the Goddess of Life understood). Only then did he manage, with tremendous difficulty, to soothe the restless, over-energetic Little Green.
Given all of the above, there was obviously no way Alan could stick to his original plan of leaving Little Green at home and heading out alone to Green River Village to work. He had not the slightest doubt that if he actually did that, what would await him upon his return would be shattered fragments of dragon vine piled across the floor—and a house reduced to ruins.
And that was precisely why Alan had arrived late, carrying along such a bizarre, intimidating, head-swaying magical creature with him. He felt deeply apologetic about it… and of course, he did not miss the terrified, stiff expressions on the Franks’ faces when they laid eyes on Little Green.
After all, unlike the well-traveled natives of other regions, in a magical wasteland like Green River Village, most people would probably never see a high-tier magical creature like Little Green in their entire lives.
“Don’t worry—although it does look a bit strange…”
(By which he meant: swaying its head like a venomous snake, its body covered in fine scales, its leaves and flower heads all looking ferocious and terrifying, constantly baring fangs and brandishing claws.)
“But Little Green actually has a very good temperament. It’s always been very well-behaved and obedient when it’s at my place.”
Alan explained earnestly, doing his utmost to reassure the elderly couple.
“Zzz—”
As he spoke, a few drops of viscous fluid seeped out from the slightly opened core of Little Green’s flower and splattered onto the ground. At once, faintly blackened scorch marks appeared where the hard, smooth cobblestones had been corroded.
The corner of Alan’s eye twitched. Reacting instantly, he wiped away Little Green’s drool with a cleansing spell, then stepped forward casually and placed his foot over the scorched marks.
But everyone had already seen it.
More importantly, the Frank household’s notoriously bad-tempered dog, Charlie, chose that exact moment to let out a whimper before trembling all over and scrambling frantically across the floor to squeeze into a crack beneath the porch.
“Hey, Alan, I know you’re a mage, but… but are you sure this thing is really safe? The city folk say that creatures like this are all very, um, dangerous.”
Leonard’s brows knit tightly together as he stared hard at Little Green and spoke stiffly.
And to be fair, he wasn’t wrong. Across this continent, no matter what magical creatures looked like or how they behaved, there was one respect in which they were astonishingly consistent: their innate brutality. Even among mages, there was no shortage of unlucky souls who had been taken out by their own pets in a single bite.
“Oh, thank you for your concern. I understand. But it wasn’t like this before. By the Forest Goddess, this child is far more docile than it looks.”
The young mage pressed one hand firmly against the restless dragon vine while forcing a stiff smile onto his face.
“By the way, let’s deal with those fernhounds first. They’re not especially troublesome, but letting them continue to breed in your yard really isn’t—”
He had no intention of lingering at the Franks’ house for too long, lest something go wrong.
Before Alan could even finish speaking, a flash of dark green suddenly flickered past the corner of his eye.
It was a fernhound.
Just as Alan had tactfully warned, old Leonard had indeed delayed things for too long. The fernhounds in the backyard had already grown into maturity. By the laws of nature, mature fernhounds possess an intense instinct to reproduce: they scatter seeds as widely as possible, and for those seeds to successfully germinate, they require a great deal of nutrients.
To that end, fernhounds are naturally drawn to the fear of animals, since fear usually implies corpses—and corpses are the best possible seedbeds.
This time, the fernhound had clearly misjudged the situation. It mistook Charlie’s whimpering for an opportunity, grew dizzy with excitement, and vaulted over the fence.
That in itself wasn’t a serious problem. Magical creatures that absorb magic and transform from plants into animal forms are, more or less, not very bright. The moment Alan saw the fernhound, he reflexively began chanting, preparing to use a reversion spell to return those fluffy green “puppies” back to the earth—
However, before the syllables could leave the mage’s lips, a howling gale swept through and lunged straight at the fernhound.
Alan’s eyes flew wide in shock. Everything happened far too quickly, so fast that he had no chance to react at all.
Before his very eyes, the cluster of flowers on Little Green—so fond of fighting among themselves—burst fully into bloom. It was only then that Alan learned that beneath every vivid, delicate petal of Little Green lay a mouth bristling with sharp teeth.
The protruding, extendable mouthparts sprang out from deep within the petals like coiled springs, stabbing straight into the fernhound’s thorn-covered hide.
The fernhound’s limbs went rigid in an instant, its eyeless head jerking upward in agony.
In the rushing wind came the fernhound’s excruciating wail. And before that bleak, drawn-out screech had even ended, its massive body had already split apart and burst open, torn into pieces. Thick green slime sprayed everywhere, splattering across the ground.
The remaining fernhounds scattered in all directions the moment the first unlucky one was seized by Little Green. However, the dragon vine’s thick, glossy branches gave them no chance to escape at all.
One—two—three…
Every single fernhound was ensnared at the same time by Little Green’s scale-covered vines and leaves. The brilliantly colored flowers abruptly bent down, and under their sharp fangs, the fernhounds were instantly chewed into clumps of viscous slurry mixed with shredded leaves and broken twigs.
…
Only after all the fernhounds had completely returned to the earth did the dragon vine finally wave its thick branches, lift its petal-covered face smeared with dark green slime in smug triumph, and wriggle back toward Alan with its “head” held high.
It gently rubbed itself against Alan’s calf.
A light breeze swept through the Frank household’s yard, carrying with it the strong, distinctive stench released when crushed vegetation is ground into pulp.
Little Green’s glossy leaves swayed slightly in the air, with strands of sticky residue still clinging to the tips of a few leaf points.
Aside from the soft rustling of leaves, the yard was utterly silent. Even Charlie’s whimpering had vanished entirely—because Mrs. Frank, extremely on guard, had scooped Charlie up and was holding him protectively in her arms.
Alan: “Uh…”
Alan: “It… it usually isn’t like this.”
The young village mage repeated weakly.
Perhaps the Goddess of Fate heard Alan’s prayer at that very moment.
Just then, an anxious shout broke the unbearable awkwardness in front of the old woodcutter’s porch. A villager came running up, panting heavily, and when he spotted Alan standing in the garden, his eyes lit up.
“By the Goddess, Mage Alan—you really are here!”
The villager didn’t even notice Little Green coiled around Alan’s leg.
“The knights have arrived. They’re looking for you!”
Alan looked at the villager who had come to deliver the message, startled. From the panic written all over the man’s face, he sensed that something was very wrong. Sure enough, the next second he heard the villager’s frightened voice:
“Someone’s been injured. They said they have to get you, Mage—you have to go over there!”
—
Alan knew very well that running into Devourers during a Blood Moon was a serious headache.
Those things were somewhat similar to the zombies from the world he’d lived in before crossing over—but compared to zombies, they were larger, greedier, and far tougher, with thick hides and dense flesh. Back when he was still a third-rate adventurer, whenever they had the bad luck to encounter them, his teammates would, with remarkable tacit understanding, place Alan somewhere relatively safe (for example, up in the branches of an oak tree under divine protection and imbued with holy power), and only then go all out to deal with those disgusting creatures.
That past wasn’t exactly something to be proud of, but it was precisely because of those experiences that, before being summoned by the villagers, Alan hadn’t worried in the slightest about Lart being temporarily called in to support the knight order.
That’s right—Devourers were certainly annoying and troublesome, but to Lart, they were absolutely nothing too difficult to handle.
After all, creatures like that couldn’t last even two exchanges against Lart’s holy light blade. In other words, Lart—favored simultaneously by the three goddesses of Light, Nature, and Order—was born to be the nemesis of dark creations like Devourers.
Not to mention that, even setting aside his innate sacred power, Lart’s personal combat strength alone rivaled that of a Saiyan—completely off the charts.
However, when Alan finally arrived, he was shocked to discover that the injured person surrounded by the knights of the Royal Order… was Lart himself.
“By the Goddess, Lart… how are you feeling?”
Alan’s brows drew tightly together as he hurried to Lart’s side in a panic.
The tall, handsome man was soaked in blood from the waist up, and under the encirclement of his teammates, his face looked somewhat pale. Thank the gods, his wounds did not appear to be fatal. At the very least, when he saw Alan, he managed—quite with effort—to raise a hand and give him a greeting.
“If I have to put it into words, I mostly just feel a bit embarrassed right now. It’s only a minor injury. These guys are overreacting…”
The man gave Alan a wry smile and shrugged.
Before Lart could finish, however, a knight with an ashen expression cut in from the side.
Judging by the patterns on her armor, she was the vice-captain of the knight order.
“He was stabbed during the battle by some kind of dark creature.”
Alan couldn’t help but freeze.
“Some kind?”
“Yes. We weren’t able to identify exactly what it was. It had been hiding inside the Devourers, and when we cut those disgusting things open, it suddenly sprang out…”
The vice-captain’s voice sounded faintly familiar—it should have been the very person who had sent a message via hawk to request Lart’s support yesterday.
Her red hair fell like a cloud, her expression grave, and traces of last night’s battle with the Devourers still lingered on her body.
As the vice-captain spoke, Alan’s expression gradually grew more serious.
On this continent, there were countless parasitic dark creatures, but Alan had never heard of any dark creation capable of parasitizing Devourers—beings that were themselves condensations of darkness and filth.
The back of his neck tightened slightly, and once again he felt that subtle, indefinable sense of unease—even though Lart himself seemed not particularly concerned about the strange wound on his body.
“I really don’t think it’s a big problem. I’ve already examined myself. It’s nothing but a superficial wound—I didn’t detect any taint or curse at all.”
Lart sighed and looked at Alan with something like a headache.
“I swear, they’re just making a fuss over nothing.”
“No matter what that thing actually is, we shouldn’t underestimate the hidden danger it poses,” Alan said, unable to hold back a glare at Lart. “…Rather than just talking tough here, you should at least go to the Church of the Goddess of Light and seek her purification and blessing.”
The Goddess of Light commanded all radiance and order in this world. From the perspective of a modern transmigrator, she was undoubtedly a staunchly intolerant figure, but there was no denying that her purification and blessing were as essential as disinfectant before tending a wound—necessary and extraordinarily important. Even in a remote place like Green River Village, the churches of the Three Goddesses remained indispensable infrastructure.
Yet Alan noticed that Lart’s body bore none of the characteristic faint glow that signified the Goddess of Light’s blessing.
And when Alan spoke, he keenly observed that everyone present fell into an unspoken, simultaneous silence.
The air grew heavy.
Alan couldn’t help but glance at the surrounding knights. He was certain their expressions had subtly shifted as well.
Something had happened…
“Ah, sorry, Alan, I forgot to tell you yesterday.”
Before Alan could even ask, it was Lart himself who offered the explanation.
“I have lost divine favor.”
——————————————————————
Author’s Note:
Mini Scene—
At the very same moment that Little Green was furiously chewing and devouring the fernhounds, far away in the capital, Veles in the magical prison suddenly froze mid-bite, his expression grave.
The mages carefully monitoring him tensed immediately, eyes fixed on the half-dragon who had miraculously survived the first night of the Blood Moon, as if facing a great enemy.
“Is… is something wrong?” Antara asked nervously, his eyes wide with fear.
Veles: “…”
(Just now it seemed like I was chewing on a mouthful of grass…)
(But for some reason, my mood feels strangely exhilarated…)
Veles: “…Nothing.”
