Chapter Thirty-Nine: Conflict

“Which tribe are you from?” A voice rang out ahead.

In front of a long row of wagons stood several guards clad in pale green vine armor, glancing back at the lines of goods behind them as they spoke. Nearby, Mulis, who had been leading the way, was about to step forward and negotiate, when a voice suddenly called out from behind.

“Mulis, what’s the matter?”

A young man in a red priest’s robe descended from the wagon, looking toward Mulis standing ahead and asking.

The guards opposite were startled; they gazed at the red priest’s robe on Chen Ming, sensing the vast natural divine power within him. In awe, they exclaimed, “Is it the priest?”

At once, their attitude changed. The leader among them bowed respectfully to Chen Ming and said, “Since this caravan belongs to the priest, there’s no problem at all. Please allow us to offer you a proper welcome.”

Chen Ming nodded, and with the group led by the guards, they entered the town.

Strolling the streets, Chen Ming surveyed the scenery and nodded in approval. Though the surroundings still seemed a bit rough by his standards, the divine arts had improved them greatly.

Along both sides of the main road, the radiance of divine arts illuminated the streets, resembling street lamps from his previous life. Rows of neatly planted trees and glowing lanterns evoked a sense of nostalgia, as if he had returned to a familiar alley from his former world.

“Sir, would you like me to help find a place to settle your goods?” the young leader asked, looking at Chen Ming.

Chen Ming nodded. “Thank you. How much would it cost?”

“No charge at all. We are followers of the same god; it’s our duty,” the leader replied, smiling with reverence.

“Thank you,” Chen Ming said, a hint of surprise flickering across his face.

The leader nodded again and continued, “There’s a tavern in town run by a fellow believer from afar, and its rooms are quite comfortable. If you and your attendants don’t mind, I can take you there.”

“However, our chief priest wishes to meet you. Would you have time?”

Chen Ming nodded. “Of course. Tomorrow, I shall pay my respects.”

Then, noticing the weary eyes of those around him, he smiled gently. “For now, could you take us somewhere to rest?”

The leader nodded and guided Chen Ming and his party to another part of town.

Along the way, passersby stared curiously at them, until they caught sight of Chen Ming’s red priest’s robe. Then, one by one, their faces showed reverence, and many were shocked by his youth.

Before long, they arrived at a tavern. It was not large, its exterior plain, taller than the surrounding buildings, but the most striking feature was a deep-red, tree-shaped divine sigil emitting a faint crimson glow.

Sensing their curiosity, someone nearby explained to Chen Ming, “That sigil was personally blessed by the chief priest, so its protective power is much stronger than others nearby.”

The crowd understood at last, gazing at the sigil and then at Chen Ming with admiration.

Meeting those reverent glances, Chen Ming smiled slightly and led the way inside.

The tavern’s interior was a stark contrast to its exterior, refined and elegant.

Most of it was crafted from wood; the floor looked exquisite, and upon closer inspection, a faint fragrance and the subtle ripple of divine arts could be felt. Living here must be quite comfortable.

Yet the scene inside was unexpected.

Loud arguments echoed from within, punctuated by the sharp sounds of drawn blades.

Mulis, beside Chen Ming, frowned and instinctively gripped his weapon, stepping ahead to shield Chen Ming, ready for trouble.

The leader and his guards looked grim, but seeing Chen Ming’s calm expression, they relaxed.

He stepped forward, apologizing to Chen Ming, “Forgive me, sir. It seems some travelers have gotten into a dispute. I didn’t expect you’d witness such a scene.”

Chen Ming smiled and shook his head. “No matter. Let’s see what’s happened.”

“No need for concern, sir. Leave it to us,” the leader replied.

He led his guards forward and pushed open the hall doors, revealing the scene inside.

A merchant and a warrior were locked in fierce argument. The warrior, with a bandit’s air, wore leather armor and looked disdainfully at the merchant’s guards.

“Useless fools like you deserve a good beating!” he snarled, his eyes ablaze.

Those present glared at him in anger, but none dared act.

Chen Ming glanced at the floor. Several people lay there, blood pooling beneath them, staining the boards—these wounds had been there for some time.

Mulis beside him paled, divine power stirring within him as a faint red glow suffused his body, his aura intensifying.

“What are you doing?” A voice rang out from ahead.

It was the leader of the guards, his gaze harsh as he looked at the bodies on the ground.

The warrior’s expression changed, pupils contracting, but he feigned indifference. “They aren’t followers of the God of Nature. Mind your own business.”

Chen Ming caught a fleeting murderous intent in the man’s eyes.

He watched with interest. Above the man’s head, a faint red-grey aura gathered, solid and stable. Around him, thick resentment formed black mist, shrouding his crown.

“Not here with good intentions,” Chen Ming mused.

Such stable red luck indicated strength on par with a white-robed priest, or, in the martial system, a knight—perhaps even close to a great knight. In this town, where red-robed priests were the highest rank, he had reason to be arrogant.

But the grey luck and resentment showed he was no ordinary citizen, more likely a brigand or robber.

Recalling recent news in the area, Chen Ming pondered, his gaze tinged with amusement.

The atmosphere inside the tavern grew tense.

The leader clearly hadn’t expected such insolence, and with Chen Ming watching, his anger rose.

He raised his spear, as if summoning something; it shimmered faintly, exerting a palpable pressure on the onlookers.

Yet the warrior only sneered, and visible battle energy flared around him.

“A knight!” The crowd gasped in horror, despairing at the bandit’s prowess.

As southern merchants, they knew all too well the terror knights inspired—only a few priests in town could match such power.

And seeing the bandit’s ferocity, it was clear the matter would not end peacefully.

The air grew heavy. The bandit smiled cruelly and stepped forward, intent on violence.

“What are you planning?” A melodious voice called from behind—a young man’s tone.

The bandit’s pupils contracted, and he turned.

A young priest entered, handsome and dressed in red robes.

“A red-robed priest? Impossible!” the bandit thought, his eyes darkening as he stared at Chen Ming.

Chen Ming paid him no mind. He looked at the wounded lying on the floor and sighed softly.

A faint light flashed in his hand, enveloping the bodies, and a wondrous scene unfolded.

Before their eyes, the wounds began to heal, closing rapidly. Another ray of light swept over them.

Those who had nearly lost consciousness felt a warm strength, drawing them back from the brink.

Their fingers twitched, and they gazed at Chen Ming with gratitude, struggling to rise.

The bandit’s pupils contracted again, his doubts erased.

“Such powerful healing arts—he really is a red-robed priest.”

The same thought crossed everyone’s mind, and even the leader relaxed in relief.

Yet while they could relax, the bandit could not. Chen Ming’s serene eyes unnerved him, and cold sweat trickled down his back.

He opened his mouth to beg for mercy, but no words came. Terror seized him as he realized his body was fixed in place by an overwhelming force—he could not move an inch.

The scene grew still. The crowd noticed the bandit’s sudden immobility and were puzzled, but with Chen Ming present, none dared speak.

Above the bandit’s head, his faint red fate fluctuated violently, red luck suppressed, while a dense aura of death flickered in and out.

His life and death now rested entirely in another’s hands—Chen Ming’s—hence the intermittent death aura.

Chen Ming smiled and said, “Go now.”

Suddenly, the pressure vanished; the bandit felt weightless, drenched in sweat, and glanced at Chen Ming in terror before fleeing without a backward glance, as if afraid Chen Ming might change his mind.

Watching the retreating figure, Chen Ming pondered quietly.