A Gift from the Gods...

In a small and seemingly desolate grassy plain bustling with abundant flora and fauna, there existed a secluded village adorned with lushness and radiance. It was a humble village, home to a population of no more than 200 individuals.

The atmosphere there was serene and filled with tranquility.

However...

that village exists no longer.

Regrettably, it was situated between two colossal nations: the Crusader Kingdom in the North, part of the Genesis continent, and the Kingdom of Deus in the South, a part of the Pathos continent. These nations were engaged in a severe political conflict, which eventually led to a devastating war.

The village, being the only source of cover and resources in the area, became a crucial chokepoint utilized by both sides.

Tragically, the village was ravaged!

Crops were either stolen or incinerated, livestock killed, houses damaged and occupied. Even ordinary civilians fell victim to the soldiers' merciless attacks in response to any form of retaliation.

Nevertheless, the villagers refused to surrender. They took up arms to defend what was rightfully theirs.

However, their valiant efforts proved futile.

The soldiers were skilled mages, belonging to an advanced class of magic, while the villagers were incompetent and lacked magical abilities.

As a result of their resistance, the soldiers set the entire village ablaze and ruthlessly slaughtered every last villager...

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The war raged on for nine long months, leaving behind a grim aftermath.

What once was a verdant and picturesque grassy plain had transformed into a desolate wasteland, enveloped in a haze of blood, the stench of decaying corpses, lifeless vegetation, and scorched earth. The radius of destruction extended up to 15 kilometers from the village's epicenter.

All that remained within the village were mounds of charred bodies and the ashy remnants of what used to be their wooden homes, now reduced to stone foundations...

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One week after the war's conclusion, a band of mercenaries arrived to scavenge the spoils of the conflict.

Among them was their leader, a man in his fifties, bearing a pale complexion adorned with numerous blemishes and wrinkles on his forehead. His dark hair exhibited silver streaks at the front, neatly trimmed and styled.

He wore a chain-leather armor embellished with a religious cross symbol, a crimson sun, dripping blood was displayed above it, and a figure of an impaled body positioned atop the sun's rays, on the back of his armor. The armor's interior was lined with fur from the waist to the neck and shoulders, providing added warmth. His pants were crafted from the same material.

His face exuded a rugged and masculine appeal, characterized by a dark-brown iris and a neatly groomed, thin, grey beard.

A sword hung at his waist, secured by a belt. It was a typical longsword, displaying traces of rust and blood, bearing signs of wear and tear from countless battles...

"What a horrible sight to look at..." he uttered, his voice laced with sorrow.

It's unfathomable to believe that this land was once a flourishing paradise, he mournfully contemplated.

"Heh! So much for the 'Holy Lands,'" he scoffed, a bitter sense of irony tainting his words.

Well, it was foolish to expect anything pleasant amidst a battlefield...

This is the essence of human nature—inflicting harm upon everything around us...

All for the sake of an unresolved conflict between two so-called 'kings'... puppets manipulated by their perceived gods, he mused, traversing the dim and fog-laden village while surveying the piles of lifeless bodies.

Well, I am no better myself. For most of my life, I served under these monsters, dutifully fulfilling their orders without regard for the sanctity of life.

And for the past six years, I have dragged my comrades along, attempting to escape my past by donning the facade of a 'mercenary guild'...

Now that I reflect upon it...

Not much has changed about me. Only this time, I accomplish orders in exchange for meager silver and gold payments. The man's thoughts dripped with profound regret and guilt.

Suddenly, amidst the heap of corpses, his attention was captivated by a shimmering presence.

Although the polluted air and perpetual fog limited his vision, a radiant light emanated from within the lifeless bodies.

It appeared remarkably pure and luminous, even possessing an aura of mana—an ethereal "Guiding Light."

Driven by curiosity and the hope of discovering valuable treasures, the man hastened towards the enigmatic radiance.

He meticulously sifted through the corpses, maneuvering aside the arm of one body that obscured the light, revealing a startling revelation.

Nestled amidst the corpses, he discovered a sleeping baby, swathed tightly in tattered, soiled cloth. Traces of blood and ash adorned its innocent face.

"What in the world?!" The man exclaimed, his voice reverberating with shock.

How could a baby be amidst this gruesome scene?

What heartless individual would abandon an innocent child here?

Could its parents have perished in this dreadful conflict?

How is it even alive, considering this land has been a battlefield for nine agonizing months?

The man's thoughts raced frantically until a single, callous notion silenced his other ruminations.

Should I...end its life? he contemplated, his nerves taut as beads of sweat formed upon his brow.

It would be the most merciful course of action. The child is parentless, born amidst this sea of bloodshed, forsaken among these corpses.

There is no chance for it to survive for long, he reasoned, his mind clouded as he panted softly, his sword poised to sever the infant's fragile neck with a horizontal swing, eyes tightly shut, and heart locked away...

Then, suddenly...

"MARCUS!!!" A woman's voice bellowed from behind him.

Abruptly, the man snapped back to reality, his sword lowering as perspiration drenched his face.

"Marcus, what on earth were you thinking?!" The woman's countenance bore a mix of anger and concern.

"I...I do not know, Anne..."

"I don't know what came over me."

"It felt...as though it was the right thing to do." Marcus found himself bewildered and uncertain.

"Marcus, sheathe your weapon. You look exhausted and pale." Anne said as she walked towards Marcus, comforting him.

"We should leave this area; the air is too dense and polluted," Anne proposed, her tone stern yet compassionate.

Marcus surveyed his surroundings, beholding nothing but pollution and death.

"Y-you are right. I believe these conditions are beginning to take a toll on my sanity."

Marcus sighed, his tension dissipating.

"Lets go," Marcus said, sheathing his sword and walking past Anne.

"Wait!"

Startled, Marcus turned around, casting a puzzled gaze upon Anne.

"What is the matter?" Marcus inquired.

"What about the baby?" Anne anxiously queried.

"Leave it be... It'll perish in these harsh conditions sooner or later."

"It's best to let it die peacefully," Marcus responded, his tone tinged with coldness as he continued to move away.

"We cannot simply abandon it here! We can save its life, Marcus!" Anne protested vehemently.

"Anne...we cannot affor--" Marcus's words were interrupted by the piercing wails of the baby.

The child's cries echoed through the desolation, catching Marcus and Anne off guard.

Instinctively, they hastened towards the distressed infant.

This time, Anne insisted on adopting the baby, proclaiming it to be a gift from the gods.

"You know that I am incapable of bearing a child!" she exclaimed passionately.

"And no orphanage would permit a group of mercenaries to adopt!" Anne's determination etched firmly across her face.

A gift from the gods, huh? Marcus contemplated, his expression etched with a frown.

Rubbing his forehead wearily, Marcus engaged in profound contemplation, weighing the consequences of his decision.

"Hah~ Fine...though we have no means to provide for the child or the skills to raise it properly..."

"I will find a way! I am more than capable of caring for a baby!" Anne declared, exuding confidence.

Anne leaned down, delicately grabbing the child from the mound of corpses, cradling it in her arms in an attempt to soothe its distress.

However, the baby's cries only grew louder, overwhelming Anne as she struggled to pacify the infant.

"Marcus...what do I do~?" Anne cried out, her voice fraught with helplessness, teetering on the edge of tears.

"Hah~...First, let's leave this area and regroup with the others, the polluted air is likely affecting the baby's breathing," Marcus sighed, his exasperation evident at Anne's apparent incompetence.

"A-alright..." Anne responded, her voice trembling, still clutching the baby tightly while stifling her own tears.