Overlord: Welcome the Birth of the King-Chapter 99: Salvation? Shockwaves & a System All Its Own

To confirm his suspicions, Lyle had Freianne cast the Object Locator spell again.

The result?

Freianne looked completely lost, utterly bewildered by the lack of feedback. She even began to doubt her own proficiency with the spell, wondering if she'd somehow botched it.

But Lyle, watching the notification flicker on his status panel, knew otherwise. The spell hadn't failed due to her; it simply couldn't affect him.

"Want me to give it another shot?" Freianne asked awkwardly.

"There's no need—you've helped enough already," Lyle replied with a smile, waving her off casually.

He was now certain: any kind of long-range detection or spying spell was useless against him. From now on, he only had to watch out for perception-based magic—those that picked up intent, presence, or aura.

"I ordered a few dishes earlier. If you're hungry, feel free to help yourselves."

"I've got a few things to take care of, so I'll excuse myself." Lyle stood up, offering an apologetic smile.

Freianne raised a golden eyebrow and playfully elbowed Arche, who had been looking increasingly fidgety throughout the meal.

"This place may be small," she said, "but it's not cheap. I hope your mystery guest paid in full."

"I'll walk you out," Arche blurted, standing up so suddenly she nearly knocked over her chair, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Freianne watched the two leave the restaurant—Arche trailing nervously behind Lyle—and took a sip of her coffee-like drink. A sly smirk crept across her lips.

"Didn't think Arche would know someone like that... and with black hair, no less. Doesn't even look dyed."

Outside the Restaurant

Arche stared down at the ten gold coins in her hand, momentarily dazed.

It had only just struck her.

She still didn't know the man's name.

He never introduced himself.

The bustling city street was alive with the clatter of carriages and the rhythmic thud of armored boots. Soldiers patrolled the area regularly—unsurprising, given its proximity to the Imperial Magic Academy. Security was tighter here than almost anywhere else in the capital.

Adventurers were a common sight along the sidewalks, some dressed plainly, others strapped with weapons that caught the light like trophies. The closer one got to the central plaza, the more bizarre and exotic the outfits became.

Lyle's flowing priest's robe draped elegantly over his arms, swaying slightly with every step. His Little Barghest followed quietly at his heels, a shadowy blur with glowing eyes.

"We need to speed things up," Lyle thought grimly.

Especially after seeing Arche's bleak future play out with his own eyes—that moment had only reinforced his urgency.

Save her?

He had never seen himself as someone standing on high, reaching down to offer salvation.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure he could keep himself safe in this world.

If Arche was someone in need of saving, then what about the ten thousand soldiers of Re-Estize Kingdom, offered up like livestock on an altar?

What about the citizens of the Holy Kingdom—slaughtered and skinned like cattle by Demiurge, dumbed down by magic until they could barely be considered human?

If they didn't deserve salvation, who did?

He wasn't a messiah.

And he had no desire to become one.

That said, if he could help someone along the way, he wouldn't go out of his way to avoid it either.

As a player who grew stronger through bloodshed, Lyle figured that the fact he hadn't gone on a mindless killing spree was proof enough of his respect for life.

"Hm?"

He paused mid-step, his gaze drifting to the other side of the street.

Nothing suspicious.

Must've been his imagination.

But in a shaded corner of that same street, a figure cloaked in a tattered gray robe slowly raised their head. Thin arms peeked from beneath the fabric—clearly a woman.

She watched Lyle disappear into the crowd, her eyes unreadable.

The Next Two Days

Under Imina's subtle yet deliberate influence, rumors began to spread like wildfire.

A mysterious alchemist living in the noble district, it was said, had the power to heal even the most grievous disabilities.

The news shook the adventurer and worker communities to their core.

Especially since the treatment was free.

Of course, for most of these battle-hardened types, "free" was the most suspicious word of all. Nothing in life came without a price, and they all knew it.

But word on the street was that "free" came with a catch—you had to act as a guinea pig for one of the alchemist's experimental potions. There was a non-zero chance you'd die from it.

Strangely enough, that part made the whole thing more believable.

Even so, no one wanted to be the first crab in the pot.

The rumors continued to grow, echoing through taverns and back alleys, until—

On the third day, it happened.

Two figures appeared at Lyle's door.

A man and his son.

The father was around thirty, his skin tanned from years of fieldwork, though his hair was prematurely white. His son was strapped to his back in a wooden frame. The boy's legs had been amputated.

News of their arrival caused an immediate stir among the watching adventurer and worker groups.

Even the major workshops and the Herbalist Guild took notice. The Adventurers' Guild sent people to investigate too.

Ordinarily, a copper-ranked adventurer wouldn't be worth this kind of attention.

But Lyle wasn't just anyone anymore.

He was an elite-level alchemist, whose influence was growing with every whisper of his name.

It didn't take long to uncover the father and son's background: they came from a small farming village outside the capital. Years ago, the boy's legs had been broken by a minor noble who thought it would be fun to use a whip.

The injuries went untreated and eventually led to necrosis. Amputation had been the only option.

The day dragged on, the city's eyes trained on one house.

And then—near sunset—the pair walked out through the heavy brown doors.

Yes—walked.

The boy had legs again.

The effect was instantaneous. A shockwave ripped through the adventurer and worker circles.

To them, this was nothing short of a second chance at life.

Death was one thing. But living as a cripple? That was true despair.

The Herbalist Guild and alchemical workshops were equally stunned.

In their worldview, alchemy was always secondary—a tool to assist true potion-makers. Even Lyle's diluted regeneration potions, which Immina had sold discreetly, hadn't made much of an impact.

What truly shocked them wasn't just the healing, but the method.

The fact that Lyle had used ogre's blood to create such a restorative solution?

Unheard of.

This changed everything.

Lyle had created something not reliant on herbalism—a formula powered purely by alchemy.

A standalone system.

One capable of rivalling traditional medicine and rewriting their understanding of what was possible.

As the pair left the noble district, a carriage suddenly swept them up and whisked them away before anyone could react.

They reappeared the following day, briefly, before vanishing from the capital entirely.

Clearly, someone had taken them aside for a private verification.

The Following Morning

Just after dawn, a loud knock echoed against the heavy brown doors of Lyle's estate.

When Lyle opened it, he was momentarily taken aback.

A crowd had gathered.

Some were dressed in ornate robes. Others wore rags. Many had the rugged look of long-time adventurers.

All of them shared one thing in common:

Visible injuries.

Missing limbs. Twisted spines. Scars that never healed properly.

Ordinarily, adventurers and workers would never set foot in the noble district. Not because they were banned—but because they didn't belong.

But now they stood, packed like sardines, eyes locked on one door.

Lyle glanced over the crowd, then to the corners and rooftops where imperial guards stood silently watching.

Normally, they would have dispersed this kind of gathering in seconds.

But today?

They just stood there.

Keeping the peace. Nothing more.

Interesting.

Lyle's eyes flicked back to the crowd.

"All right," he said flatly. "One person."

The air grew tense in an instant. Everyone understood what he meant.

One person at a time.

But just as the atmosphere started to crack—

Clip-clop!

Rumble—

The sharp rhythm of hooves and wheels broke the silence. A luxurious carriage appeared at the end of the street.

Everyone stepped aside, faces sour with expectation.

Probably just some noble passing through.

But to their surprise, the carriage stopped directly in front of Lyle's door.

Click!

The wooden door opened. A sharply dressed butler stepped out and respectfully placed a footstool on the ground.

Then, a young man emerged—blond-haired, probably no older than twenty, holding a ruby-inlaid scepter with the ease of someone born into power.

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