Return of the Youngest Son with SSS-Rank Talent-Chapter 188: October 28

After a few minutes, Kael stopped "praying." His hands slowly relaxed, and his breathing, which until then had been slow and solemn, ceased. He sat up slowly, each movement measured and deliberate, as if even his posture was designed to convey authority.

He calmly turned his face and looked around the room.

What he saw made him smile.

Everyone present was kneeling, bowing before him, their heads bowed and their eyes trembling, as if they were standing before an apostle descended from heaven.

A cold smile appeared on his lips.

This was the result he was looking for. The seed had already been planted.

Perhaps, he thought with unsettling calm, he should thank the murderers who had slaughtered these people; after all, their cruelty had been the perfect fertilizer for his purpose.

With this scene, his identity would become stronger than ever. From now on, these people would not be mere survivors: they would become his loyal followers.

Kael watched them silently, his smile barely perceptible as his thoughts flowed coldly.

Fools... just because I showed them a magic trick, they see me as an envoy of their God.

And deep in his eyes, a spark of satisfaction shone with the same intensity as the newly born faith of his new believers.

Kael passed by him without saying a word. His countenance was calm. As he stepped outside, the cool evening air greeted him gently.

A few steps away, the girl Rosan was waiting for him, with an expression of concern that she was trying to hide. The tears on her face had already dried, leaving a faint sheen on her cheeks.

"Let's go... I feel very tired," Kael said in a low voice, almost a sigh.

Rosan nodded silently and took his hand. Her small hand was warm.

Little by little, they both moved away from the crowd. Their footsteps mingled with the distant murmur of the city until finally their figures were lost in the shadows of the road.

Shortly after Kael and Rosan left, people began to emerge.

Their faces were different, as if something within them had changed forever. It was neither fear nor relief, but a new, deep calm that was difficult to explain.

The younger ones looked at them in confusion, unable to comprehend this silent transformation.

One of those who had not entered could not contain his curiosity and asked:

"What did you see in there?"

A tall woman with oily skin and a still trembling gaze turned to him. Her voice came out barely as a whisper.

"The birth of a saint?" she replied.

"A saint?" repeated the man, with a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment. The expression on his face said it all: he didn't understand. They had entered a house marked by tragedy, a horrific scene, and yet... they claimed to have witnessed the birth of a saint? Had they gone mad? Or had that vision disturbed their minds?

The woman looked at him for a few seconds, and slowly, a smile appeared on her lips. It was not an ordinary smile: it had something tender and something faithful about it.

"If you had come in... you would understand what I'm talking about," she finally said.

And he said no more. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. What he had felt inside that house was a simple emotion, but one that was impossible to put into words. A mixture of fear, awe, and something that came dangerously close to devotion.

The adults who had not dared to enter, out of fear, or prudence, or simple cowardice, were left with their doubts.

As they looked at the faces of those who had witnessed the event, a small spark of regret burned inside them.

They didn't know exactly what had happened, but they all shared the same feeling: something had awakened in that place.

The days continued to pass. Clouds drifted slowly across the sky, forming shapes that changed with the wind. There were days when the rain fell softly, washing away the dust that had accumulated on roofs and streets.

The unbearable heat of summer had finally faded, giving way to the warm serenity of fall, with its crisp air and golden light.

Amidst this more pleasant climate, Rasen's name began to spread little by little. First in Zone 1, then in Zone 2, and later in Zones 3 and 4.

What began as a rumor became a story told aloud.

The whispers crossed streets and corridors. Until, finally, they reached the ears of the Pope.

Zone 4.

High above, a huge white cathedral. Its golden columns glowed in the evening light, reflecting the splendor of the stained-glass windows.

Within those solemn walls, the echo of rumors about Rasen mingled with the serene singing of the faithful.

Seated in a simple wooden chair was an old man with completely white hair and golden eyes. His expression was serene, unperturbed, as if nothing in this vast world could disturb him.

In his hand, he held a wooden crucifix. His fingers slowly traced its contours. The slight touch of the wood against his skin resonated in the air.

Suddenly, the old man looked up. He had sensed a presence even before he heard the footsteps. His gaze turned toward the entrance, calm, expectant.

"What now, Anderson?" he asked in a low but firm voice. There was a calmness in his tone that did not demand an immediate response.

The man who appeared had brown hair and a carefully trimmed beard. He wore an immaculate white priest's robe, which contrasted with the austere surroundings and the figure of the old man.

"His Holiness Alexander, have you heard the rumor about the appearance of a saint in Zone 1?" Anderson's voice broke the silence. His expression was serious. That kind of rumor was not something that could be taken as mere gossip.

In the heart of the Church, it bordered on blasphemy.

Alexander slowly looked up. His face showed no surprise. After a brief silence, he sighed.

"Yes, I've heard about it. Every so often, people appear who pretend to be saints."

His tone was calm, almost resigned. For him, it was nothing new. For years, false messiahs and self-proclaimed saints had been emerging from the masses, seeking faith, power, or simple recognition.

Alexander was used to this cycle.

However, Anderson did not share his calmness. He took a step forward, his face grim.

"But Your Holiness, this time it is a very serious case."

The air seemed to grow heavier. Anderson clenched his fists.

"The young man who pretends to be a saint... they say that when he was praying, his body gave off a golden glow. They claim that the glow erased the entire scene... and some say they could see the souls of the dead rising into the air."

A deep silence followed his words.

"..." Alexander stood motionless, staring at a point in the void. Then, slowly, he brought a hand to his forehead and exhaled another sigh, longer than the previous one.

"Are you sure about what you're saying?" he finally asked, his voice grave.

"Your Holiness, I sent some priests to check, and they informed me that the residual mana essence was the same as yours... And you know that it's practically impossible to imitate something like that."

Anderson's tone was serious. There was no doubt or exaggeration in his words.

Alexander, sitting in the simple wooden chair, remained motionless. The dim candlelight cast shadows across his face, outlining a calm, almost serene expression.

"So... it's really possible that a saint was born in this city," he murmured, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. His voice showed no emotion, but his eyes reflected a deep understanding, that of someone who knows that something important has just changed.

After a brief silence, he added calmly:

"For the moment, let us simply observe. We must not intervene. If this is truly the will of our Lord, then no man has the right to interfere with His plan."

"Understood, Your Holiness." Anderson bowed his head respectfully. Then he traced a cross on his chest and circled it. Without another word, he turned and left the room.

When the doors closed behind him, silence once again enveloped the room. Only the soft flickering of the candles accompanied Alexander, who remained motionless, staring into space.

The possibility of a new saint... was both a blessing and a threat.

...

Meanwhile, while she was embroiled in rumors, they were quietly teaching a group of children.

"And that's all for today. You can play now."

Kael calmly closed the book. The children immediately scattered, running around the playground with shouts of joy, while he watched silently.

He sat down by one of the windows and opened another book. The pages slowly passed between his fingers, but his mind was not really on reading. Something flashed through his memory... something he had overlooked.

Today was October 28.

His birthday.

For a moment, the room seemed to grow quieter. Outside, the evening light bathed the streets in golden and reddish hues. People passed by without stopping.

So... it's been over a year since I returned to the past. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Her thoughts were calm, devoid of emotion. There was no nostalgia or joy.

Kael rested his elbow on the windowsill and looked outside. The reflection in the glass showed a serene and distant face.

As he watched people pass by, time continued its course, indifferent, just as it always did.