Chapter Thirteen: Extraordinary Professions and Refugees

Several carriages rolled along the bumpy, muddy yellow road, the exploration party lurching and stumbling as they went, because it quickly became clear that the vanguard soldiers did not know how to drive a carriage. These men were used to charging across battlefields, relying on extraordinary physique and combat skills to execute tactical maneuvers that left the enemy haunted by nightmares for years to come. They could assassinate foreign dignitaries, decapitate enemy officers—yet today, they were stymied by nothing more than a carriage.

Fortunately, the carriages provided by the count's steward, while not as imposing as warhorses, were at least gentle in temperament, so they did not bolt wildly despite the soldiers’ awkward handling. Eventually, the vanguard abandoned the reins, letting the horses find their own way, which resulted in a much smoother ride.

“So, these people can laugh after all,” Emeya remarked with surprise as laughter drifted from the carriage ahead.

Qin Le replied in irritation, “We’re not monsters—of course we can laugh.”

In the beginning, the vanguard truly didn’t laugh. After all, weapons were not supposed to possess emotions; they were to be unfeeling instruments of slaughter. The first stage of their training was to erase all emotion, reducing them to efficient machines that obeyed orders without question.

Only with such discipline could the triad formation reach its full potential—efficient, cold, and united in will. Every command required nothing more than a gesture or a glance. When one comrade fell, another would seamlessly take their place, unclouded by grief or hesitation.

Some elite veterans could match this level of discipline, but the fear of death is instinctual; no matter how fearless, a veteran might flinch for a heartbeat. The vanguard, however, would not hesitate—not even for a fraction of a second.

“I need to write my report. Tell me about the ranks and divisions among the extraordinary,” Qin Le said, sitting cross-legged with a black notebook in hand.

“Alright, alright,” Emeya replied, lowering the carriage curtain and settling beside him.

“There are countless extraordinary professions—some truly bizarre. For example, a dozen years ago in a small southern country, I encountered a most sinister profession called a Corpse Shepherd, who could control the dead. Some professions are self-created, like this idiot here.” She pointed at Olina, who was stealthily munching on a ration biscuit and, caught in the act, hurriedly covered her mouth.

“Olina trained in the knightly arts, but she isn’t a knight in essence. She can channel her emotions into strength—almost like those church zealots.”

With crumbs at the corner of her mouth, Olina protested, “I am a knight.”

Emeya scoffed, “Have you ever seen a knight fall into demonic rage when angered? You’re more like a High Priestess of Wrath than a knight.” She sighed a little as she spoke.

“Setting aside the strange outliers, there are five mainstream professions in the world: Knights, Mages, Hunters, Assassins, and Devotees.”

“Devotees? Does their faith actually grant them power?” Qin Le asked curiously.

Emeya nodded. “That’s right. Their strength comes from what they call ‘the gods.’ It’s somewhat similar to Olina’s method—they convert faith, emotion, and other such intangible things into power through their gods.”

“So the gods truly exist?” Qin Le pressed.

Learning that gods might exist in this world put the Xuan Order on high alert. If these beings possessed power befitting their name, then this new world’s exploration could be either a blessing or a curse.

“Gods both exist and do not. The miracles and powers they bestow are real, but there’s never been a record of a god manifesting in the mortal world,” Emeya replied, giving a most unexpected answer.

Qin Le recorded this, then asked, “Emeya, what’s your profession? How did that gold bar suddenly appear in your hand earlier?”

That feat had left the entire exploration team amazed. Imagine being able to reach out in battle and make your opponent’s weapon vanish—wouldn’t that be invincible?

“Thief of Divinity!”

“Thief,” two voices answered at once.

Emeya stared at Olina in disbelief—how could she slander her like this? Olina, for her part, looked at Emeya just as incredulously—how could she be so shameless?

Qin Le quietly noted “thief” in his book, then, to prevent a pointless argument, said, “Please continue.”

Emeya shot Olina a glare and continued, “The standard for classifying professions is generally three upper and three lower tiers—six levels in total. That Count Dyna, for instance, is probably a third-tier knight. Olina, though a bit scatterbrained, is also third-tier. But this standard doesn’t include Devotees; they’re too unpredictable—their power can fluctuate wildly. Each profession has its strengths, so it’s difficult to judge who’s stronger.”

Olina was about to open another ration pack when she heard Emeya’s jab and protested, “Scatterbrained? I’m the most gifted knight the Dawn Kingdom has seen in a century!”

Emeya ignored her. “Take knights, for example. Unarmed and unarmored, a first-tier knight can fight ten men, a second-tier can take on fifty, and a third-tier can reach a hundred. But this is a crude comparison—real combat is more complex. Ordinary men, no matter how many, can’t all attack a knight at once.”

Indeed, in a world with supernatural powers, it was almost impossible for the common folk to rise above their station.

Qin Le set down his pen, his expression serious. “Emeya, I want to become extraordinary. How?”

“Aren’t you already strong enough?” Emeya glanced at the cold, dark firearms. “A shot from one of those could kill even a top-tier extraordinary if caught off guard. And you probably have even more powerful weapons.”

The gold earlier had shown they were indeed advanced humans, but it raised another question: if they were so advanced, why were they all ordinary, without a single extraordinary among them?

Emeya had thought their people simply scorned learning supernatural arts—after all, their weapons were terrifying enough. For an extraordinary, one or two guns weren’t a big deal if one was careful, but these were their standard-issue weapons, like a knight’s sword.

But clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“It’s not enough,” Qin Le shook his head slightly.

Through the psychic bond, Emeya sensed a growing urgency and confusion but only nodded in the end. “To become extraordinary, you must first choose your path according to your natural talent: Spirit or Might. For Spirit, you need an extraordinary who can guide you to absorb the world’s spiritual energy. For Might, you only need to take a Spirit-Opening Pill and temper your body.”

“We don’t have any Spirit-Opening Pills right now, but I can guide you to try the Spirit path—”

Before she could finish, the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

The curtain was flung aside, and Fishhead, sitting in the driver’s seat, turned and said, “Captain, there’s a large group of refugees ahead.”

A few hundred meters away, a ragged crowd, looking more like the walking dead than living people, trudged weakly toward them.

The soldiers raised their rifles, aiming at the mass of people.

“Why are there refugees here?” Qin Le asked, picking up his binoculars. All he saw was a horde of emaciated men, women, and children, dragging their families with them. There were a few elders and perhaps three hundred people in all.

Though this world was medieval, with low productivity and frequent hunger, what he’d seen so far suggested things weren’t desperate enough for a famine. So why so many refugees here?

“It’s probably the Green Goblin King from the marshes,” Olina explained, then vaulted from the carriage and strode toward the refugees.

As she approached, the entire crowd fell to their knees as wheat bows before the wind.

“What’s going on?” Olina’s expression was solemn, her bearing regal; at that moment, she was the ninth princess of the Dawn Kingdom.

The leaders of the refugees broke into sobs. “Your Highness, our homes were destroyed by those goblins! Our fields, our livestock, our houses—gone!”

Crying broke out among the crowd; with what little strength they had left, they kowtowed unceasingly.

“Please, Your Highness, take us in—we’ll do anything!”

“Please, Your Highness, save my child!”

Olina’s face darkened as she looked at the kneeling refugees, anger and compassion warring in her eyes.

So it was the Green Goblins.

The Hunters’ Guild’s intelligence had been off—or rather, delayed. The Green Goblin King in the marshes had already unified all the goblins. Now, the goblins were invading human lands, a clear sign that the marshes could no longer feed their numbers.

This was no longer a matter for a simple expedition; it would require the kingdom’s knights to resolve. These hundreds of refugees were not the only victims; many more humans had likely already perished at the goblins’ hands.

“Do not fear. You are safe now, I—” Olina began, but a slender white hand clapped over her mouth.

Emeya leaned in to whisper, “You idiot, you’re not thinking of taking them all in, are you?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Emeya hissed, “Are you insane? The territory has already taken in over a thousand refugees—that’s the limit. We don’t have enough food for hundreds more. Olina, your excessive kindness is cruel; if you accept these hundreds today, thousands may starve tomorrow!”

Olina fell silent. She knew very well that, with the territory’s current food stores, it was difficult enough to feed their own people, let alone hundreds more.

But she couldn’t bear to turn them away.

Emeya continued, “And do you think these are the only refugees? No, more will come. Today you take in these, and soon you’ll be flooded with thousands more. In the end, you might have to kill them yourself!”

Even without taking these in, more would come. This foolish princess was dearly beloved by the commoners for always standing up for them, but despised by the nobility. If trouble broke out, the nearby peasants would surely flock to her for help.

She glanced at the kneeling refugees, their bodies little more than skin and bone, their dirty faces filled with hope as they gazed at her.

Inside, she struggled bitterly. To abandon them was to betray her faith, but to accept them might doom even more to death.

The familiar sense of helplessness washed over her.

“I’m sorry, I… cannot…”

“Take them in. I’ll provide the food.” Qin Le had come up behind them unnoticed.

Emeya turned, giving him a look reserved for fools. “So you’re joining her in this nonsense? If you take in these hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands more will come. Can you feed them all?”

Miss Elf was as pragmatic as ever, and it was likely her realism that had kept Olina’s territory in such precarious balance.

“Thousands? Tens of thousands?” Qin Le asked.

“Exactly. This isn’t just a matter of a few hundred refugees.” Emeya had seen this sort of thing before.

In times of chaos, a lord must never take in refugees, for it would draw every homeless soul from the region. Neighboring lords, eager to avoid the burden, would even herd refugees toward the one foolish enough to accept them.

The greatest dangers were the sheer numbers and the despair. A massacre could spawn a demon, which was no laughing matter.

“It doesn’t matter—even tens of thousands would be fine. It’s just food, isn’t it?” Qin Le’s face remained calm; the Xuan Order cared little for mere grain.

“We can’t take in these refugees, or we’re all doomed—wait, what did you say?” Emeya stared at him in astonishment.

She was about to scold him for boasting, but then remembered these people’s breathtaking wealth and fell silent.

Those words—“just food”—hit her deeply.

“Thank you.” Olina looked at Qin Le with heartfelt gratitude.

He might look fierce, but he was a good man.

…

After three hours on the road, the carriages and the refugees finally reached their destination: Olina’s fief, the domain of the Dawn Kingdom’s ninth princess.

It was a ramshackle castle, surrounded by mud-brick houses and, beyond those, broad wheat fields.

As the caravan and refugees entered the territory, several hundred men armed with spears and wooden shields rushed out to form a defensive line. Their formation was ragged and their equipment crude, but their spirit was nothing like that of ordinary peasants.

To avoid misunderstanding, Olina dismounted and approached first.

When the guards recognized her, they immediately dropped their weapons and cheered for their lord’s return.

“It’s the princess!”

“Her Highness is back!”

Smiling, Olina greeted them, “I’ve returned.”

“Make way, make way!” A stout old woman in a maid’s uniform pushed through the crowd and hurried to Olina’s side.

“Your Highness, you’re finally back. May the great Lord of Night be praised for your safe return!” The old woman crossed her chest with a crescent, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She was the last of Olina’s maids, brought from the royal palace and in her service since Olina was ten.

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” Olina said apologetically. This trip had been dangerous—without Qin Le, she might not have returned at all.

“Your safety means more than anything,” the maid replied, wiping her tears as she noticed the approaching carriages and the refugees.

“Your Highness, who are these people?”

“They’re my friends from the carriages, and the refugees we found on the road,” Olina answered.

Ten minutes later, the caravan entered Olina’s ramshackle village, and the atmosphere throughout the fief grew tense and oppressive.

The local peasants eyed the refugees with open hostility, looking ready to attack or drive them off at any moment—if not for the princess’s presence, they might have done so already.

The refugees sensed this animosity and were visibly fearful and nervous.

Life in Olina’s land was hard enough; the scant food barely fed a thousand souls. To prevent the population from growing, the peasants had given up their only form of primitive amusement, limiting themselves to one night of procreation a year, so that the number of newborns wouldn’t exceed thirty.

These hundreds were a burden they could not bear.

Night fell, cloudy and oppressive, and darkness shrouded the entire fief.