Oversseer System: I Shall Recreate This Civilization
Chapter 29: Sarr’s (3)

Chapter 29: Sarr’s (3)

The adventurer immediately collapsed weakly.

"... Yeah, unless you first improve your body and posture."

"O-oh... I see."

Rhaozhekar then explained the type of training required and the lifestyle adjustments he recommended.

"That’s truly helpful advice. So, when should I start this program, Master?"

’He’s already calling me Master, huh.’

His younger self might have felt proud, but being addressed that way by someone possibly only four or five years younger than him was a little unsettling.

"Whenever you want."

And with that, the adventurer decided to train under him for about a month.

As a student, he formally introduced himself again—Khaezrin, son of Khaz, and his age...

"You’re still 25?"

"Technically, 24 years and 10 months. I’ll be 25 in two months."

He seemed to notice Rhaozhekar’s surprised expression.

"Uh... is something wrong?"

"Eh... well, you look much older than your actual age."

Fortunately, Khaezrin took it as a compliment and smiled proudly.

"Right? My mother always said it was one of my late father’s charms and that it would become my appeal in the future. A family trait, you could say. Hehe."

Rhaozhekar wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply changed the subject.

"So... are you planning to join the military?"

"The military? No, Master. I’m a free spirit. A place run by bunch of old-fashioned traditionalists doesn’t suit me at all."

"Well, sorry if we seem so old-fashioned."

"E-eh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just... ahem. A-anyway, I’m doing all of this for my goal—to travel to the Intayan continent. It’s going to be a dangerous and unpredictable journey, so I at least need to learn how to defend myself."

’He changed the subject so smoothly.’

Rhaozhekar shrugged, deciding to let it go.

"That’s quite a journey. Are you looking for treasure?"

Khaezrin grinned.

"A treasure called flying magic."

’So, it all comes back to that.’

Rhaozhekar wondered if an obsession with flying magic had become a trend among the younger generation.

"I thought that was still under research."

"I heard rumors that a group of scholars discovered a way—though with severe restrictions."

"Just rumors. Besides, even if it exists, what do you hope to gain? I doubt flying is as exciting as it sounds."

Instead of the usual fiery passion in his eyes, Khaezrin suddenly looked distant.

"I want to meet my sister, again."

"Huh?"

"She was a sweet, cheerful, and lively little girl. The villagers used to say her smile could heal the sick. That smile disappeared when she was five—along with her."

Khaezrin bit his lip.

"It was a plague, Master. She suffered from intense stomach pain and lay bedridden for weeks. The disease consumed her body mercilessly. One day, she couldn’t even open her eyes anymore—just groaning and begging. I... I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. In the end, my mother was the one who gave her peace."

Rhaozhekar let out a deep sigh upon hearing the story.

Sabaoth, located in the far south, had a mild climate, making it a prime destination for immigrants and newcomers.

Overpopulation was nothing new there. And when it happened, it led to famine, fast-spreading diseases, or an unstable social hierarchy.

Khaezrin looked up at the sky again.

"If God truly exists in that floating house, I want to ask for something. No, I don’t want to bring her back. I wouldn’t let this cruel world hurt her again. I just..."

"... want to apologize and hug her one last time."

Even before the 30 days were up, Khaezrin chose to leave.

His technique was far from perfect, but he had grasped the fundamentals well enough—a solid foundation.

Khaezrin believed that the longer he stayed, the fewer chances he had to fulfill his dream.

Before departing, he promised to return with tales of his adventures.

"Oh, I might even write a book about it. The Man Who Spoke with God—catchy title, don’t you think? I’ll make sure you get the first copy."

After being bombarded with books he didn’t find particularly useful, Rhaozhekar wanted to decline the offer politely.

’But... God, huh?’

That day, he visited the nearest temple.

He had never considered worshiping before and didn’t even know which deity the people here followed.

’The First Flame, huh.’

Rhaozhekar wondered—could fire speak?

He also started reading through his new books, researching everything about the floating house.

"... only those chosen may be invited inside."

"... the dwelling of the world’s most powerful being."

"The one who watches from above and governs our existence. What are his true intentions? How great is his power? Is he an ally or an enemy?"

Rhaozhekar finished an entire book in just a few hours, staying up much later than usual.

At three in the morning, he headed to the armory to grab a bottle and sip the last of his ginger beer.

Then, there was a knock.

A woman stood outside.

And she was floating.

Startled, Rhaozhekar rushed outside. He thought it might be a trick of the mind, but no—it was real.

And not just any woman.

It was... Zhaenova!

The woman should have been around his age or slightly older.

By now, Zhaenova should have been a woman in her fifties, showing the same signs of aging as he did.

’But... how was this possible? She still looked exactly the same as when we last parted!’

Zhaenova didn’t walk—she simply floated in place.

She was floating!

The shock didn’t end there. Without a word, she approached him and... pressed a kiss right on his lips.

"A-what... is this...?"

[You are now ’The Chosen One.’]

[You have received a special invitation to meet The Overseer.]

[The transfer process will begin in 5... 4... 3... 2...]

[1...]

A sensation unlike anything Rhaozhekar had ever felt before overwhelmed him. It was as if he were being tossed around by an immense force, making him feel utterly nauseous.

When his senses finally returned, he found that his surroundings had completely changed.

The wooden building where he stored his weapons and valuables was gone. The towering watchtower that stood at the village’s border had vanished.

Even the sky was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, there was only a vast gray ceiling, seemingly made from a material tougher than brick.

’Maybe marble?’

But its surface was polished and clear, shimmering almost like the night sky itself.

As his gaze lowered, he finally saw it.

Standing beside Zhaenova was a figure too abstract to describe.

At times, it resembled the legendary First High Priest—handsome, commanding, and full of wisdom.

Other times, it took the form of a horrifying monstrosity, covered in a thousand eyes that watched his every move.

And at times, it became a mass of pure darkness, so deep that not even the faintest glimmer of light could penetrate it.

It was strange, terrifying, and breathtaking all at once.

Rhaozhekar had rarely faced true battles, but when they came, he always met them head-on without fear, no matter how many foes stood in his way.

Yet in the presence of this being, his knees buckled, and every fiber of his being screamed at him to flee.

But he couldn’t even move.

"This may be our first official meeting, but I have been watching you for a long time, Rhaozhekar. And if I may say so... I am quite a fan of yours."

Seeing Rhaozhekar frozen in place, the entity tilted its head, seemingly amused.

"Oh, right. My apologies. Being alone for so long has made me a little inconsiderate."

A snap echoed.

And then, the figure shifted—into Khaezrin.

"Better?"

Rhaozhekar’s rational mind slowly returned, but the fear still clung to him.

"Who... are you?"

"You know who I am, Rhaozhekar. Isn’t that exactly what you were thinking before you arrived here?"

Before I arrived here?

He swallowed hard.

"You’re... God?"

It was the only explanation that made sense.

His eyes darted around. If he had been summoned here...

"Does this mean... I’m dead?"

"Dead? No, no. There are many ways your people describe this phenomenon. An ascension to heaven, an extraterrestrial event—you may call it whatever you like. The outcome remains the same."

Rhaozhekar recalled the tales—the First Prophet’s sacred ascension during his final moments, granting him a second chance. Or the legendary Zhaldrekh, who descended from the heavens as a divine warrior.

All of them had been entrusted with a great purpose.

"Indeed, this is not a mere social visit. Apologies. I need you to accomplish something."

Did he even have a choice?

The being before him could likely erase him with a mere thought.

"I... I will do what I can."

"Oh, you can do it. After all, you have that, don’t you? The ambition to unite everything."

"I-I suppose... But that’s just a foolish dream. I’m not as great as I imagined."

"Oh, don’t be so modest, please. I’ve been watching your journey closely, from the day you were born till today."

That thought sent a chill down Rhaozhekar’s spine.

"If you truly believe you are not enough, then I shall grant you youth, and power, stronger than you ever imagined."

"T-to unite the Union continent?"

For the first time, the entity’s expression darkened, almost irritated, making Rhaozhekar worry that he had spoken out of turn.

"Union, Intayan, Fritz, Casia, Kleman. Each of those continents contains at least ten different kingdoms, each with its own culture. Yet you were all once one. Antroseda was meant for the chosen ones—the Alhamera."

The entity shook its head in exasperation.

"Your defiance... is frustrating."

"A-are you referring to... the infidels?"

"Infidels? Frankly, what you believe in is not the issue. It’s simply that... diversity disgusts me."

"D-diversity?"

The entity sighed, then smiled.

"I suppose it’s easier to show you."

It gestured for Zhaenova to come closer.

"Do you remember what you used to call her, Rhaozhekar?"

"I-I was—"

"Kaovren. I believe that is your people’s term for ’the devil.’ But in truth, their species has a far more beautiful and profound name—Hope. A symbol of aspiration, a promise of a better future.

"The Hope race was meant to be the dominant species here. But in the end, it was you—the Alhamera—whom I chose. And this... is the price of not being chosen."

It happened in an instant.

The entity plunged its fingers into Zhaenova’s chest, ripped something free, and pulled out her still-beating heart.

Zhaenova collapsed, her lifeless eyes frozen in shock.

The heart—weakly pulsating—was tossed to the ground beside Rhaozhekar. He recoiled in horror.

"This will be your mission, Rhaozhekar Conquer this world. Unite everyone into one, again."

A pause. Then, almost offhandedly:

"If you wish to justify it with religion, by all means. Go forth. And wage a holy war upon Antroseda."