Year 8 — cont.
Checking myself in the mirror, I nodded affirmatively at my reflection, satisfied with my appearance. I adjusted the collar of my plain black clergy cassock, taking note of the Quincy Pentacle Cross embroidery adorning it.
Despite being only 8 years old, I seemed to be growing at a rapid pace, resembling more of a 12-year-old child. However, I realized that being a kid was still being a kid, regardless of my outward appearance.
I’m still a brat...
Now, you might be wondering why I was dressing up this way, especially since the Communion wasn't scheduled for today. Well, the thing is, they didn't wake me up last night when they brought the slaves back to the village. Zeidritz, one of the village elders, had instructed me to meet them in the chapel.
Although I had previously expressed my reluctance to expand the village, having a few helpers wouldn't hurt. Besides, I hadn't exactly added thousands of people; there were merely 30 individuals in this group.
Originally, there had been over 50, but some had managed to escape or perished along the way. Their lifeless bodies were dragged, shackled as they were.
However, this meeting wasn't just a casual get-together. It was an opportunity for me to extend my influence by sharing a piece of my soul, as I usually did. Who knows, perhaps there was a Quincy among the newly arrived slaves?
Once I finished dressing, I adorned my clergy cassock with white gloves purchased from the local merchants, completing the ensemble and giving me the appearance of a miniature priest. With everything in place, I made my way down to the chapel.
...
Upon reaching the last step of the stairs, I paused and discreetly glanced into the chapel. Everyone seemed engrossed in their own activities, oblivious to my descent.
My steps, almost weightless, made no sound, aided by the [Aspect: Experiences] I had acquired. Among those experiences were lessons on silent movement, likely obtained from a soul with a knack for stealth and evasion.
I feel like I’m Killua.
The chapel teemed with a diverse array of individuals—women, children, and men alike. Yet, despite their differences, they shared a common mark: a red scar on their ankles and necks.
In my previous life, I had often trivialized the notion of slavery, having never encountered it firsthand and not delving deep into its implications. However, witnessing it firsthand was a profoundly disturbing experience.
Though I had already taken another person's life, it didn't render me devoid of humanity. As I observed their complexions and expressions, my mind swirled with disturbing thoughts. How had they been treated? What had led them to this state?
To make matters worse, there were children even younger than me. It was heart-wrenching.
"This is utterly disgusting..." I inadvertently uttered aloud.
As the realization of my slip escaped me, I glanced up and found dozens of eyes fixed upon my direction. The surprise was evident in their gazes; they likely had never heard the rumors about this village. It seemed I would have to introduce myself.
The Quincy guards stationed there merely nodded in greeting, fulfilling their duty to keep order. Zeidritz, my caretaker, was already present, occupied with some task beneath the chapel's floor—a makeshift platform to raise me since I was too short.
I walked towards the altar, stepped onto the platform, and faced the assembled individuals. Taking a deep breath, I parted my lips, and a high-pitched, undeveloped voice reverberated through the silence.
"I am Yhwach. Welcome."
Their attention immediately shifted to me, and a hush fell over the chapel. However, I chose not to continue speaking. That was all I had to convey, anyway.
"..."
Their faces betrayed an anticipation for further words from me, but alas, I had nothing more to say. If there were any questions, they should be directed to Zeidritz, the village chief. While I possessed the authority to issue orders, it was he who primarily made decisions for the community.
As the silence lingered, no one dared to break it until Zeidritz took a step forward.
"His Eminence Yhwach is not one for words, but I presume all of you have already been briefed on the situation," he declared. "Now, please form a line. His Eminence will administer communion to each of you."
Oh, how reliable Zeidritz was. I admired his willingness to perform tasks I found distasteful.
"Now, please form a line. His Eminence will administer communion to each of you."
As Zeidritz continued to address the gathering, I descended the plank and positioned myself below the altar, adjusting my gloves to ensure they remained securely in place.
I detested dirt more than anything, and while I held no judgment towards them, I had no intention of touching them barehanded unless they had bathed. The stench of blood from last night's altercation clung to their bodies.
As the slaves formed a line, I commenced the communion. Extending my hand, I gently touched their scalps, sharing a piece of my soul as they closed their eyes. In that moment, I healed every affliction that had plagued them since their inception.
The red marks left by their chains vanished without a trace.
The malnourished children didn't suddenly plump up, but their complexions brightened.
The women who had constantly clutched their abdomens in pain, whether physical or emotional, found their ailments alleviated.
This spectacle widened everyone's eyes. While this world witnessed various supernatural occurrences, these slaves had yet to experience such phenomena firsthand, particularly in such close proximity and directed at themselves.
[0.00001% of your soul has been redistributed.]
[0.00001% of your soul has been redistributed.]
[0.00001% of your soul has been redistributed.]
The communion was not overly taxing, given that most of these slaves were ordinary humans. If any possessed the potential to be Quincy, the portion of the soul to be distributed would be more substantial.
The line continued to progress until I encountered a certain dark-skinned young boy who appeared to be around the same age as me, though his emaciated frame made him seem younger and smaller. Our eyes met, his black orbs locking with my crimson ones.
Why was he staring at me? I wasn't unnerved, merely curious as to why he regarded me as if he had encountered a divine figure.
Intrigued, I deviated from the routine I had established with the other slaves and addressed him directly. "Is there something on my face?"
He seemed taken aback by the sudden question. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to form a response. I maintained my patience, waiting for his reply.
"No, no... There isn't anything on your face, your eminence," he finally managed to say, his voice trembling.
Was he scared? Am I that scary-looking? I don’t eat human meat though.
I remained silent, our eyes locked. In my studies of interpersonal communication, I had learned a trick from my professor—a technique that encouraged individuals to share information they might otherwise withhold.
Instead of directly addressing the desired information, one could ask indirectly related questions. Moreover, maintaining eye contact fostered a sense of connection and comfort, facilitating sharing.
Seconds passed, and the boy eventually lowered his gaze and head before speaking. "I, I was wondering if you also possess the powers like the warriors you sent last night, your eminence."
Ah, I see. He was fascinated by the Quincy's Spirit Particle Manipulation. I had shared the same fascination in the past, but eventually grew weary of it after discovering other intriguing powers in this world. Moreover, despite being a Quincy, my abilities extended beyond mere control of Spirit Particles—I was uniquely constructed.
Instead of confirming or denying his assumption, I raised my arms toward his scalp. But before making contact, I posed a question. "Do you desire to possess such power as well?"
His eyes widened, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though stars twinkled within them. "Can I...?"
"That depends. If it is God's will, you shall have it. Deus Vult."
As my hand connected with his scalp, I felt a stirring darkness within me. It was different from the usual seismic tremors—a sensation akin to a black hole, devouring everything in its vicinity and distorting space itself.
What in the world...?
[Warning! Warning! A significant portion of your soul (2.5%) is about to be distributed. Do you wish to proceed?]
