NOVEL WEB Chapter 149: Chills
Leon left the dimensional space behind, returning to the outside world. Though only minutes had passed here, a full day had slipped by within his inner realm. He had stowed every treasure safely before departing—nothing left behind.
His eyes opened, and the coarse chill of stone beneath him grounded his senses. Instantly, he felt a sharp gaze fixed upon him—Seraphine. Her worry was palpable, her purple eyes searching his face for any trace of pain or weakness. Leon met her stare, giving her a reassuring, silent smile: I am unharmed.
Seraphine's hand gripped her cloak tighter, her knuckles pale as a breeze swept through, carrying the faint scent of cold earth.
It wasn't just her gaze alone. The two knights standing near the cauldron—Kael and another man beside her—had an awestruck look on their faces as they kept glancing at him from time to time.
Their armor creaked with each nervous shift, beads of sweat glistening on their brows despite the chill in the air.
The old man and the other two were not present to witness the sight they had seen.
Both of them now believed their young lord was definitely a divine being; it was nerve-racking for them to know they were so close to him.
The golden ethereal divine energy that came out of his body, as he resided on his icy throne, his eyes closed—gave them the feeling that they were looking at something greater.
The divine being the beggars had named him, having seen his previous miracle; now they, too, believed in him.
He could feel Seraphine also wanted to ask him about the golden energy, but she didn't rush him now. He just gave her a warm smile to let her know he was completely fine.
As he could see the bit of worry in her eyes, he knew she knew which elements he had learned up till now. Seeing the strangeness in him might have stressed her a bit.
Slowly but surely, new beggars started to appear on the surface from the pothole, as it seemed the old man and the knights had managed to convince them.
In less than fifteen minutes, it was packed with beggars—in their rags, with various small wounds and scratches—their condition slightly better than those above, as a few looked like they were on the verge of dying from starvation soon.
The crowd pressed so close that Leon could feel the warmth of desperate bodies and catch the sour odor of sweat and hunger clinging to every worn-out cloth.
He guessed they had something below. He didn't try to imagine what that might be.
He knew there wasn't any food present, so they were left with few but disturbing choices they had to make to live.
He respected their tenacity to survive.
More than 150 beggars were in front of him. They could barely stand in their places; space was too little, and he could still sense twice as many below.
I have already created enough soup for the beggars in mind before leaving.
He wasn't the least bit worried about feeding them, as they needed food the most right now.
The scent of steaming broth wafted through the square, making mouths water; hands trembled as the beggars reached for the bowls, savoring the rare heat against their frostbitten skin.
Twenty minutes had passed. Now this batch of beggars was done with the food.
Only the soft scrape of spoons against empty bowls remained, mingling with a hush of grateful sighs that softened the square's usual edge.
The skepticism in their eyes was not so strong now, but it was lingering in the air. Even though he had fed them, he knew the reason for that. As previously, he had shown a miracle of creating food out of thin air.
But all eyes were filled with skepticism—only 10% of the beggars, the rest must have gratitude in their eyes. Not reverence or faith—just gratitude.
Leon stood up from his throne made out of ice, graceful. The eyes of the beggars latched onto him.
The cold surface beneath him sent a chill through his bones, but as he moved, the weight of so many gazes pressed against his skin, a physical force of expectation.
As this was the man Old Will said was a kind, divine being who was here to help them and change their lives all around.
Most of them were grateful, as he had saved their lives. Because not everyone was willing to fight for the few rats hiding in the corners of the dirty sewers, most were intimidated by how brutal the fight became when the number of rats decreased.
A few weak ones had even died in the gutter.
Holding onto hunger had given little hope to them—instead of losing their lives just to eat a rat which tasted like shit with a horrible stench.
Leon, without saying a thing to them, raised his hand as the green light wrapped around every single one of them. All the wounds had returned to their previous state.
The healing energy tingled across old wounds and aching muscles, leaving behind a faint, fresh scent—like dew on grass after rain.
Even the wounds they'd had for years, which looked alright from the outside but still hurt them regularly—for lack of treatment they couldn't afford.
Yet now, this so-called divine being they had doubted had done something even the people from the Church of Life couldn't do—healing more than 100 people at the same time.
Awe.
Reverence.
These were the feelings they got when they looked at the handsome man standing in front of them, who didn't look too human to them.
What he had done was beyond their comprehension.
Even those who had doubted felt guilty—as what Old Will had claimed was really true.
A God was waiting for them.
One who would bring salvation to even dirty ones like them. He did not discriminate. He treated them with respect. He did not look down on them.
His eyes—they could see it.
Mystical.
Mysterious.
Seemed out of this world.
But they didn't have any disgust in them. They didn't feel looked down upon.
It was a rather strange feeling for most—yet it was the one that made them feel warm. Most didn't even know how to respond to that kindness. They just fidgeted around in their places, looking around to see what others were doing.
There was one undeniable fact.
They were tougher, rougher, rowdier than most of the normal civilians.
Yet in front of unfiltered kindness, most didn't even know how to behave.
It started with one voice that poured her heart out—a little too little to be in this messed-up place.
The sound rang clear and sweet, carrying through the hushed air as dust motes danced in a stray shaft of light.
Leon glanced at her—a little munchkin barely five—still holding a spoon in her little hand.
"Thank you, God, for making Miara's legs better. It hurt so much before… um, and Daddy wants to say thank you too, but he can't talk, so I say it for him. Daddy's not bad. He's really nice… just tired."
Leon looked at the giant man standing next to the little girl—whom he hadn't noticed as she was too small in such a crowded place. But him—how could he not notice that the man was seven feet tall?
But it was something else that made him notice the giant. This man, who once first came, was with a most battered, hollow face—swollen bruises, a split lip, one eye nearly shut—was the most beaten down of anyone here.
Now, with the little girl's words echoing in the square, Leon finally saw him clearly, his face recognizable as the healing he had done for the man. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to those haunted eyes, and Leon felt a chill run down his spine, as if some unseen fate had just shifted.