Chapter 126

Posted by Kuze, ? Views, Released on April 8, 2025

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Here’s the English translation of your novel text without comments:

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### Episode 126: The Omen (3)

“Move the supplies!”

The next day, the mostly restored Mars Guild grounds were bustling with noise.

“When are the other priestesses coming? I want my prayer before heading out to battle!”

“Exactly! It’ll be dawn soon!”

Due to the impending Cultist subjugation war, the Mars Guild—more accurately, the Temple of Conflict—was flooded with visitors.

Luna and I weren’t here for guild business today but to offer prayers at the shrine for victory in war.

Amid the endless swarm of people, Hippolyte, clad in her long red cloak and dangling armor, could be seen placing her sword on people’s shoulders, bestowing blessings like a sacred rite.

“I, Hippolyte, priestess of Mars, pray to you—Tormus—for the War God’s divine favor!”

A long line stretched before her, so packed that just looking at it made me restless.

“Hassan, let’s join the line!”

I was about to turn back, but Luna insisted, so with no choice, we took our place at the very end.

Having a girlfriend apparently means standing in lines like this for trendy places. Is this similar to that feeling? Then, does that make Hippolyte the trendy place? The metaphor I just made feels oddly lewd, sending a shiver down my spine.

But thinking of another woman next to Luna probably isn’t polite, so I shifted my attention back to her as she glanced around.

“There are so many people. Does this… actually do anything?”

“Praying at the Temple of Mars or Minerva before war is like a national rule.”

A national rule? I nearly laughed at the phrase coming from Luna’s mouth. She often picks up words I absentmindedly throw out and repeats them like they’re fascinating.

From sheesh to national rule—Luna soaks up stories from my homeland like a sponge. Of course, she probably thinks it’s just some Samaritan dialect or slang.

“Does praying actually help?”

“It’s better than heading to war with no preparation at all!”

“Well, yeah…”

I recalled the subjugation battle scheduled for tomorrow.

War. Soldiers. d*mn it.

Even though my memories of Earth are fading, some things will stick until d*ath—like the army and its bullshit.

The freezing and scorching lands of Gangwon-do.

Frankly, even if I remember those days, I don’t want to. That place was practically another world. Seriously, where else in Korea gets snow as late as May?

Anyway, after finishing my grueling service and returning to school, I somehow ended up in this world as Elpride’s slave, wasting my youth.

And now, another mobilization order.

d*mn it. War is awful.

But I’m supposed to be Hassan of Samaria, a foreigner who doesn’t even belong here.

They’re drafting even city-dwelling foreigners for tomorrow’s battle? How desperate is this city?

The thought of facing a brutal battlefield this time made my vision darken.

This isn’t just smashing goblin skulls or exploring dark labyrinths—it’s a whole different level.

Just thinking about it makes my mouth dry with tension. The anxiety I’d been suppressing makes my legs tremble.

As I fidget like my luck’s about to run out, Luna mutters:

“I wish Ideope had a Temple of Mars or Minerva. If the men had prayed for divine favor, more would’ve come back alive.”

“Ah…”

Now that I think about it, Ideope had a severe shortage of men due to endless tribal wars. That’s why most of the population is women, and male children are treasured.

Regardless, Luna had spent last night and this morning crafting protective charms and totems before now throwing herself into prayers at the war temple.

It reminds me of obsessive mothers trying everything to boost their kids’ exam scores.

Of course, I wasn’t calm either.

This d*mn savage battlefield—I can only imagine it as a mud pit of nightmares.

Back when I was a slave in Kolkata, I saw soldiers return from a neighboring city’s war.

They were wrapped in bandages, missing limbs, dragging themselves back—exhausted faces even after victory. That image stays with me.

While lost in that memory, Luna nudges my shoulder.

“Hassan, it’s almost our turn.”

Snapping back, I see only a few groups left ahead of us.

Seeing Hippolyte for official business rather than guild work feels weird.

“Daughter of Temona—Velucamoni! May you be blessed with burning resolve and victory!”

A woman kneels, rises, and soon I stand before Hippolyte, whose tired expression is clear.

She wipes her ritual sword with a white cloth and asks:

“Warrior, what is your name?”

“Hassan of Samaria.”

“Hassan of Samaria, kneel here… Wait, Hassan? HASAAN?!”

Beeeeep—

My ears ring from her shriek.

The God of Conflict, Mars, is said to roar so loudly it shatters enemy morale. His self-proclaimed daughter has similar vocal cords.

“Ahem, no—Hassan! What are you doing here?”

She coughs, then lowers her voice, clear disbelief on her face.

“I’m joining the battle tomorrow.”

“You—a foreigner without citizenship—joining the war?! Drop it. You’ll d*e.”

A priestess of Mars dissuading me before the war? d*mn, I’m not superstitious, but this feels… off.

“I don’t want to go. But the draft order came. If I refuse, I can’t stay in the city.”

“Show me.”

I pull out last night’s orders from my pocket.

There are two documents—one I’d already read, and another.

The second, in elegant script, dictates rendezvous details and battalion assignment—plus more:

”Let us slay the Cultists! They are our sworn enemies! For decades, Sodomora thrived—until these Cultist sc*m invaded!”

Clearly, they’re hyping up conscripts.

But what caught my eye was further down:

”All conscripts will be granted citizenship and the right to join the City Assembly.”

— Enya Sardich

Hippolyte hands it back after reading.

“I didn’t think a Samaritan would care about citizenship.”

“…Well, it’d be nice to have.”

Citizenship?

I am an adventurer, but at Bronze Tier, I barely get access to any social systems.

Take banks—I can’t even open an account. So I lug around clinking coin pouches or hide them somewhere. But then I’d be paranoid about thieves, messing up my work… leading to ”Why aren’t you working properly?!” complaints… which would spiral into losing my job and money.

d*mn. Citizenship.

Not just banking—cheaper clinics, emergency guards…

I never imagined getting citizenship before Silver Tier. Maybe this war is a chance for a better life.

Assuming I survive.

“Now I see why you’re being dragged in. Enya, that fool, came up with this scheme. So this is what Minerva’s warriors resort to—petty tricks.”

“Hippolyte, just bless Hassan already!”

“Hngh—ah, fine. Noxdotty, you joining the fight too?”

“No. Wait—are you?”

“Wanted to. Lost the draw—staying to guard the city.”

Hippolyte isn’t joining? My morale just plummeted.

If a walking artillery piece like her isn’t going, who is?

“Don’t worry too much. If the count’s daughter is leading the charge, your survival odds just went up.”

“Really?”

“Still, you’ve got over a 50% chance of dying. The Cultist stronghold’s got Anchors—a dark mage who reached into hellish magic. Terrifying.”

Cultist Mage Anchors?

I remember Platinum—the Cultist gathering I infiltrated. There, four stood out: Schizo, Somnia, Anchors (the mage with the long staff), and their so-called “Leader.”

Is that mage in the stronghold?

I know how dangerous mages are—Elpride, my former tormentor, was one.

“A powerful mage equals a battalion. Anchors was once an assistant professor at the Magic Tower—now dabbling in forbidden knowledge, so even worse.”

”What… should I do, then?”

”d*e, I guess.”

”Ah… I see.”

”Or flee. Hassan, I can erase one name from the conscription list.”

Erase my name? Is this the legendary nepotism power I’ve only heard about? Who needs divine favor when the God of Conflict’s daughter offers this?

Winning without fighting? Maybe she is Mars’ daughter. Hippolyte’s got a big heart.

Imagining the ample chest beneath that imposing armor, I shiver with emotion. This is why connections matter. Joining Mars Guild was the right call.

”Lady Hippolyte, thank y—”

”But what fierce Samaritan runs from battle? This talk was just a test.”

”Could’ve… skipped the test.”

”Pointless words waste breath. Samaritan, your eyes burn for war. Forget what I said—consider it never spoken.”

”Uh… sure?”

”Such thirst for battle… It reminds me of Father Mars. The eyes of a lion seeking bloodshed—so striking.”