"Close your eyes."

Her gentle voice came as if to soothe him or lure him into a trap. Riktor, for one last time, glanced at the tree near his hut. It was tall and could be seen from anywhere in the village. Then, with a deep breath, his eyes closed.

"Now ask for blessing. If Magic God doesn't work, ask Metal God. Be as humble as possible."

'Magic God? Please blessing—tch!! Please bless me, Magic God.'

Riktor now had a frown on his forehead. He felt like something tried to enter through his head where the Priestess was pressing him gently, but it looked like it didn't connect with him.

"Nicely done. You don't have Magic God's blessing."

Opening his eyes, Riktor saw gloating villagers and even children smiling—or rather laughing—at him. His failure brought them strange joy. Riktor could only sigh. He was not disappointed; he just had no hope to begin with.

"Alright, children and Riktor, don't open your eyes until you've asked every god or awakened your Vein."

The Priestess sounded a bit irritated. Riktor didn't know if it was because he opened his eyes or because of the villagers' reaction; either way, he instantly closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to aggrieve the Priestess.

'Please bless me, Metal God.'

As soon as he said it, the hands that were pressing his head became warmer. Soon, he felt so comfortable he fell asleep. The Priestess was shocked because her Soul Reserve drained—her heart was almost out of it—and if the boy hadn't fallen asleep, she could have died.

Her hands were trembling as she held the back of his head with one hand and gently laid him backward. Her eyes were, of course, on his chest. He had almost drained her reserves, and although she was a White Veiner—the lowest of all—she still had a Mid-Tier reserve. This boy had almost drained her completely.

Riktor's chest pulsed as the whole village's heart stopped beating for a second. The Priestess knew what this meant. This boy was no ordinary person; he was a Metal Veiner, and she couldn't be careless with him anymore. She immediately gestured for the nearby patrolling knight to gather near her.

The silver-armored knight, seeing the glow in Riktor's chest, was shocked. He had never expected anyone to get awakened in this tiny village. He ran and stood in front of Riktor.

"They don't like him, Sir Adam. I request you to check how many Veins he has. I'm too tired to even move. If any old people try something funny, you have my permission to kill them—to protect the person blessed by the Metal God."

"Metal, you say?"

Sir Adam first ran toward the Priestess, thinking she might have been hurt, but his instinct yelled at him to protect the dirty, unconscious person. It might have something to do with how both of them had the Metal God's blessing.

A Magic Veiner is almost always a mage or a priestess, but a Metal Veiner is always a warrior, no matter the kind. Pulling out his sword, he stood with a glee in his mouth as he looked at the villagers. If a Priestess gives you permission to kill, you're killing in the name of God; so it was not only valid—it was a holy deed.

"Holy Priestess, you misunderstand us. We don't have any malice for our own kin."

"Take another step; your head will roll onto the ground."

The village chief took a step, wanting to make the situation clear—that Riktor was actually not hated by them—but Sir Adam smiled while making his stance clear. His sword danced in the air as he stood there calmly.

"You fool no one. I have seen how you people look at him. Sir Adam, please call backup first before checking his Vein count."

Agatha was not taking any risk while alienating Riktor from his village. Although a mortal doesn't know or care about what type of Vein it is, Metal is always superior to Magic—that's the culture in Veiner Society, an unwritten universal rule.

"I will, my lady. Please retreat to your camp. Don't worry about the boy; he is a kin now."

Sir Adam bowed in courtesy, then stood his ground. Agatha, with a slightly pained look, stood up. She slowly but gradually entered the tent behind her. The children were terrified, and even the adults were thinking about retreating, but they were not sure if that would offend the knight.

Sir Adam was still smiling, wearing silver, shiny armor. The blue cape behind him showed he was a bona fide knight; he could murder this entire village if he wanted to.

As he stood there, people with makeshift silver armor and red capes flooded in and surrounded Sir Adam. They looked like they were used to giving protection to him.

"Good job, Sam."

Sir Adam patted a perfectly armored, red-caped person beside him. Sam was young and had black, shiny hair, unlike Adam, who was bald. He was the personal squire of Adam and the only person who could move Adam's troops out of the barracks other than him.

Adam unsheathed his sword, then calmly walked toward Riktor, gently removed the clothes from his chest. Two Veins were pulsing like starflies in silver color. Adam smiled because he only had one Vein—that was yellow. He could create a mud wall to protect himself, but this boy had something more precious.

"Sam, this boy is a Metal Double Veiner. Can't leave him here."

"Understood, Sir! Whole platoon will move with Sir Adam at once! Form defensive parameters—on guard!"

Sam's command was on point. Even new patrolling guards looked serious. Villagers, seeing so many swords and shields pointing at them, felt fearful. They took one, then two steps backward. Children started panicking, but the guards didn't bother to look at them as they systematically moved with Adam, who was now carrying Riktor in his hands.

"The boy is too dirty. After reaching camp, give him some Moonlight Dew to recover his new Soul Reserve, then clean him up. I will request Her Highness to give this boy to me for training, but I don't think she will agree. Still, building a good relationship is also nice."

As Sam and Adam walked together in a relaxed mood, Sam was intrigued when he heard his master have such high praise for this boy. His gaze changed a little—from no interest at all to slight competitiveness.

"He has such high talent?"

"Well, not exactly. He has a different element than us. I'm mud, and you're an earth user. He's more solid—steel, maybe. It's silver in color. Someone like the Company-in-Charge can handle him."

"T…That's the three-thousand-man Company in Charge! He's way busy."

"He was searching for a successor last in the Red Star Year. A bronze user like him would love this boy. Also, he's from a small village, so no political alignment. He's perfect for him."

They reached the riverbank while conversing. From here, you could see the village they came from—far and high on the ground. Sam gestured everyone to dismiss while he entered a white tent with Adam.

Adam gently placed Riktor on the ground, then, without saying anything, left. His bald head glistened as he walked out, disappearing into the huge military camp.

"Moonlight Dew… a bottle should be enough—or too much."

Sam went to his personal items and pulled out his potion bag. It was made of leather and looked expensive. When he opened it, you could see small vials there—four kinds of them: green, yellow, red, and blue.

Pulling out a green vial, he gently sat beside Riktor. With a single stroke, he moved the clothes from his chest to see the pulsing Veins—two silver-colored veins pulsing rhythmically—but Sam could also see one was much shinier than the other. Shaking his head, he opened the cork from the green vial and poured the liquid into Riktor's mouth.

"They say Soul Reserves naturally refill… but the last one to try the natural process died."

Muttering these words, he smiled, then looked at the broken necklace on Riktor's chest. It was shaped like a clock, looked ancient—but nothing more.

Sam stood by Riktor's side to observe. The pulse suddenly became rapid, as if the green liquid was doing its job as soon as it entered the body. Riktor, who was unconscious, was in a dream world where he stood in front of a giant clock. Tiny, soft, silvery particles were gathering in his right hand, while hard, dark silver was forming in his left.

The clock was static. The soft silvers were shiny and warm, while the hard silver materials felt strong and durable. Riktor's consciousness was here. He looked genuinely happy because both silvers were playing with him.

"Dying is not a bad thing at all."

Riktor muttered. He had been here for quite a while; the silver particles slowly gathered, but he didn't feel hunger, and the urgency of finding food was gone. He felt refreshed, and finally, he could close his eyes in peace.

His happiness didn't last long. The particles that were playing with him all this while became frantic. The speed of their gathering rose a hundredfold, then slowly dimmed once again. He now had a mountain-like soft, shiny silver and a small Waterkitten-sized amount of hard, metallic silver, but the gathering hadn't stopped yet.

Sam, who was observing Riktor, frowned because the pulsing became normal again. The Veins looked as they did before. Sam pushed another vial in, then another, and the pulsing finally stopped.

Riktor looked at the huge, shiny silver reserve and the small amount of hard metal reserve and smiled. The gathering had finally stopped. He felt like he was full. He had never had this experience before, but somehow, he knew it.

"Yo!! Boy, wake up!"

Riktor's eyes fluttered as he tried to open them. Sam was constantly, gently slapping him because waking up now was crucial—the dark sleep is what kills talent most of the time.

"Finally! I know I'm not a bath maid, but you devoured three Soul Recovery vials. I want them back!"

Seeing a black-haired man blabbering about something, Riktor looked confused, and the surroundings made him even more confused.

"W…Where am I?"

"I heard there's a new awakened boy here?"

Sam was smiling at Riktor as he looked like a lost little runt, when suddenly the chaos outside the tent became tamed. A booming voice reverberated, silencing even the air itself. Sam's playful smile was replaced by reverence and shock as he stood up, puffing his chest.

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