After a day that felt like heaven, full of splashing and soaking with a few hours of sleep in between, the Larv had washed away any pain that the last week of marching and wandering had inflicted upon the gooey people.

  At the break of dusk, they left the watering hole. Most savannah inhabitants retreated as the darkness encroached. Not even the limited fauna of the small lake had dared to approach the Larv, their foreign look and texture scaring them off, something the Larv had grown used to, with some of them taking pleasure in the fear others had to them.

  After the day in the water, the skeptics had lost many among their number, creating a group of people that loved criticising others but were too trusting of their leaders promises to actually question him.

  Thus, they had become a menace to anyone that would dare to be busy in their presence, quickly taking to making sure to understand everyones actions, thus granting them the title of philosophers.

  At this point, Jeolas noted, their whole race had quite literally split into segments that did their best not to mingle.

  The Inquisitors trained under Paladin, honing their skill with the blade and Rapier as they tried their best to imitate his skill enhanced movements. When they started their march, they walked as guards along the sidelines of the troops.

  Sceptics kept close to the Prophet, asking his motives and discussing his methods every step of the way, unknowingly helping their guide perfect his plan and draw knowledge nobody else would possibly suspect him lacking.

  Although those three groups were rather prominent, most people belonged to the pawns, a rather simple group of people that just longed for an easier life. Some of them remained in the watering hole, telling themselves that this was the perfect spot to live in. They spend most of their time inventing games and thinking about better ways of transportation than petrified undead critters.

  The last group was one that the Hero himself feared. The priests made sure everyone knew of his actions and accomplishments, decorating him with names as if he were a demon lord or some other mythical figure.

  He hated it, but with every one of their ceremonies, he felt himself grow stronger, his regal aura budding as everyone believed in him more and more. It was crazy to him as they told a story about events everyone here had witnessed.

  "He held up his hand and commanded the horde to stop, his former brethren haltin as one among them spoke. The essence of a Larv had mixed with a spark of corruped divinity, the purity of our souls helped him find himself, and in thanks, he imparted each of us with a shred of divinity, this is the system we know. The savages pay with their souls for a power that is granted to the devout. Look at the Golems, the trophies he took from the Demons he slaid.

  Right now, the true people are a minority, and most of them are Larv. He gives us hope, and our hope washes away the darkness within. Always remember that each of us has their unique task within the community. We serve the one true and just Lord, as he fights for the good of every soul that inhabits Nas'ri."

  He could have laughed if this moment didn't overwhelm him with belief like no other did.

  He could never decide whether he loved or feared their abability to make people believe whatever they said, Ignoring what they had seen with their own eyes and instead trusting entirely on the wisdom of people whose primary ability it was to talk a lot.

  The worst part was that some of them had an entirely different connection to him than he normally had to his subjects. Every point of devotion their speeches gathered was channelled through them right at him, drawing a bit of those willpower into themselves, so long as they acted the way that Jeolas demanded of them.

  Paladin made it a habit to teach his every student to pray on their own and to trust in nothing but the order and their blade.

  Thus, each swing of theirs carried a hint of purifying mana, the Prophets direct connection to the system seemingly allowing his subject to channel administrator like abilities from time to time.

  Where Jeolas simply hoped for things to work out by directly talking to system interfaces, they announced the program they needed to open, reciting commands in a way that reminded him of a certain cube based game, the only game Thimon enjoyed despite it not having a character creation screen.

  He quickly pushed those thoughts away. Currently, he was Jeolas. The memories of his other lives would not help him on this sacret quest. He sighed as they continued their march, the quick break that was made specifically for everyone to conclude their day fall routine,habits everyone picked up to keep themselves sane during the never-ending walk.

  He had almost stopped hating things, claming down even as he had the feeling of something watching him.

  Only a few hours into the march, the feeling hadn't left him. The grass was turning greener, but something about the air felt too frigid to actually be real. As he looked around, he felt like the situation was somewhat familiar. Eyes dug into his back as he saw his people walk without a care in the world.

  Paladin, the Thiefs, and the high priest noticed his sudden un ease, placing their hands on the preferred choice as something clicked inside his mind. For the first time in this life, he froze completely. What he saw brought pain with it he hadn't felt in a long time. Nobody understood what could possibly shock their leader so much.

  The highest among the sceptics decided to ask a question he would regret for many years to come.

  "What's wrong, sir? Isn't this just a field of wheat?"

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