Qianshuo opened his eyes.
Something felt lodged in his chest, forcing him to exhale hard—so violently that it startled the pale red–haired woman changing his bandages.
She blinked at the boy in front of her. She hadn't expected him to wake so soon. By her estimate, he should've stayed unconscious for another day.
After all, his injuries were severe, and both his stamina and mind had been drained to the brink. He should've needed far longer to recover.
For Qianshuo, the soft white light was almost painful—after so long in darkness, his eyes couldn't adjust. Everything in his vision was blurred.
But as seconds passed, the world sharpened into focus: an unfamiliar ceiling, an unfamiliar room… and the place he was lying.
He realized he was on a soft bed, covered by a warm silk quilt. Even so, his body still throbbed with the sting of wounds. His left hand was fixed in a splint, his chest wrapped in layers of bandages; he couldn't move at all.
The pale red–haired woman was carefully replacing the wrappings on his left arm. Qianshuo instinctively looked over—and her features came into view.
Delicate facial structure. Fair skin. Straight nose. Beautiful lips.
But perhaps from fatigue, her complexion was often pale; faint shadows sat under her eyes. The corners of her mouth naturally drooped, giving her a constant air of irritation—or exhaustion.
"…So this is heaven after death?"
Staring at the blurry silhouette of that pale red twin-tail hairstyle, Qianshuo murmured unconsciously.
"An angel…?"
In his last memory, he'd unleashed that newly awakened power and killed the monsters—yet his body couldn't withstand the strain. The overload only worsened his injuries until he collapsed and blacked out.
Out there, in the wilderness, he'd been sure he was dead. If nothing else, he would've been eaten soon enough.
Pathetic… truly pathetic.
But then again, wasn't everyone in this world living while struggling on the edge?
"You calling me an angel makes me happy, you know."
Her voice came lightly.
"But you really were about to go to heaven. It's just that Lady Freya ordered me to drag you back from there—no matter the cost."
After finishing the bandage change on his left hand, she turned to "answer" him, then blinked those watery eyes and looked him over.
Curiosity rose in her gaze as she examined this half-dead boy Freya had picked up outside Orario.
He was decent-looking—clean and sharp for a kid. And he had no divine blessing…
So there was definitely a story here.
Given his injuries, Heith could tell they came from fighting monsters.
"Freya… Lady…?"
Qianshuo froze. It was a name unfamiliar to him—yet he immediately understood:
his savior.
Talk about luck turning around. In a place like that, he'd been rescued—and even brought back "home."
He really did have a stubborn life.
As his mind cleared, Heith explained, "That's right. This is Orario—Freya Familia's headquarters. Now you know where you are, yes?"
"Freya… Familia… Orario…"
Qianshuo hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but he'd heard of it. In fact, coming to Orario to become an adventurer had been his final destination all along.
To seek stronger swordsmanship…
And to fulfill his promise to the old hunter—becoming the world's number one great swordsman.
This was a world where gods walked with humans. The Dungeon city of Orario existed here—where one could become an adventurer and pursue "power," and everything else they desired.
And if he remembered correctly, Freya Familia was one of the two strongest familias in Orario.
"Looks like you know," the pale red–haired twin-tail woman said with a small smile.
After securing his left-hand splint, a ripple of interest passed through her eyes. With a soft, amused laugh, she asked:
"Kid. What's your name?"
"Qianshuo."
"Not a bad name. From the Far East—or the Extreme East?"
"…Mm."
Qianshuo nodded. His name's style gave it away anyway, so there was no point hiding it.
As for being called "kid," he didn't care. His body was only twelve right now, and Heith looked quite a bit older. It was normal.
"Heith Belupet. That's my name. Just call me Heith."
"Heith—miss," Qianshuo greeted politely.
"Well, you're a surprisingly polite kid," Heith said. "Much better than those barbaric idiots who only know how to fight."
Her first impression of him improved, and her tone softened slightly.
"I know you probably have a lot of questions. But calm down and rest first. Once you recover, you'll get the answers you want."
"Your injuries are no joke. You'll need medicine changes for a full week. And the splint stays on for several days."
As she explained, she unwrapped the bandage on his right hand. The cool glide of her slender fingers across his skin sent a faint shiver through him.
"But your body's seriously tough," she added. "You're not even an adventurer—no divine blessing—yet you woke up after only eight days with injuries this severe. I thought you'd need at least two more days before regaining consciousness."
"Eight days? I was out that long?" Qianshuo blurted, startled.
Heith nodded. "Obviously. You were injured all over, broke a lot of bones, and burned through your stamina and mental strength… no—more like you squeezed out everything. Like you overdrawn your life itself."
"If we hadn't brought you back to the familia in time—plus all the elixirs and my healing magic—you'd be lining up to reincarnate right now."
"So you went through one hell of a battle."
Qianshuo gave a helpless, bitter smile. In that situation, he'd had no choice if he wanted to live.
Better to gamble everything…
than become monster feed.
Even if he died, he'd die standing—after cutting his last strike—rather than dying in despair with no options.
And now, it seemed that desperate struggle had bought him at least one thing:
He was alive.
"These next few days, just recover quietly," Heith said. "If you want to thank someone, do it when Lady Freya summons you."
After treating his right hand, she patted his head in warning, then stood and left.
Qianshuo watched her go, then stared at the pale ceiling, lost in thought.
The power he'd erupted with back then—the sensation was branded into his mind.
"Ittou Shura… huh…"
He hadn't expected to awaken that kind of strength in a dead end like that.
A transmigrator's "cheat," maybe—though it came ridiculously late.
He didn't think about it much. There would be time later.
Right now, what mattered most was Freya.
A debt of salvation like this was unimaginably heavy… and it made him uneasy.
How was he supposed to repay her?
He was worthless—had nothing. And Freya was a goddess of towering status, revered by the world. Power, money—she lacked nothing.
"…Forget it. One step at a time."
Qianshuo resigned himself. Closing his eyes, he let out a long breath.
He was already this deep in. There was no point overthinking it.
All he could do was wait for the summons of Lady Freya.
...
"Lady Freya—the child has awakened. His body hasn't fully recovered, but his mental state looks pretty good."
After changing Qianshuo's medicine, Heith went to the divine chamber and reported the news.
Freya's eyes gleamed; a smile touched her face.
"Awake? That's faster than expected."
"Qianshuo… that's a good name."
"Arrange a meeting between me and him."
A trace of barely concealed anticipation colored her voice.
Because back then, Qianshuo had been half-dead. Even with healing magic and various elixirs repairing the body, mental exhaustion was not something that recovered easily.
For him to wake this quickly meant his will—and his toughness of heart—were truly formidable.
Then again, perhaps it wasn't surprising.
A child who had achieved soul ascension through sheer self-will… a miracle like that proved how terrifying the soul and "self" could be.
And that swordlight that had seemed to stab straight into her brow—
That was a radiance Freya had never seen.
So dazzling it hurt to look at.
At this moment, Freya was already growing impatient to meet him.
She only hoped he wouldn't disappoint her.
That he wouldn't become like Ari—whose "self" dimmed and turned dull the instant she fell into infatuation, collapsing into the same boring sameness as countless other children.
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