"The so-called God-chosen are mortals selected by deities and granted power," Scholar Hal explained earnestly.
"The God-chosen aren't necessarily believers of the god. Perhaps it's just some coincidence that sparked a hint of interest from the deity."
"Therefore, being branded with a goddess's mark without even realizing it and becoming God-chosen... while the probability is infinitesimally small, the possibility isn't zero."
"You mean... I... no, my friend has really caught the attention of an evil god?"
Orum looked at Scholar Hal, digesting this explanation about the God-chosen, his expression becoming unprecedentedly complex.
He'd only just arrived in this world, enjoying his meal and minding his own business. How did he end up becoming Benshaba's God-chosen?!
Could it really be as Scholar Hal said?
He'd hit a low-probability event, born with some trait that precisely scratched an itch for that goddess dwelling in the bottomless abyss, so much so that She took interest and bestowed God-chosen status on him, encouraging him to continue his streak of bad luck.
No... that possibility was too small.
A chilling thought flashed through Orum's mind like lightning.
"Perhaps... my selection is inseparably connected to the 'transmigration' itself."
"My identity as a soul from another world, or the system interface on me, might be the root cause that drew Benshaba's attention."
"I still can't determine how much Benshaba knows about me, but regardless, this is terrible news."
"Before I have the power to protect myself, when facing such supernatural beings, I must keep a low profile. Absolutely must keep a low profile."
Within seconds, Orum's thoughts had raced through a complete circuit, finding answers to his doubts.
Seeing Orum's expression turn uglier than a blown-up outhouse, Hal tried to comfort him, but his words only made things worse:
"Generally speaking, becoming the God-chosen of an evil alignment brings nothing but misfortune with zero benefits.
For example, you'll inexplicably get dragged into chaotic battles; without realizing it, you'll experience dark conspiracies; hardened criminals will be drawn to your aura like sharks to blood, then turn your life completely upside down."
"Even at fate's critical moments, when evil gods bestow blessings and grant you tremendous power, that power comes with an irresistible corruption curse that will rot your mind and make you as evil as them."
"So you're saying... becoming an evil God-chosen not only cranks up the difficulty level but gives me no extra rewards?"
Orum's expression turned incredulous at Scholar Hal's explanation.
"The only way to claim the prize is to sell my soul and be assimilated by these lunatics?"
Though he didn't quite understand Orum's "difficulty level" metaphor, Hal grasped his meaning and nodded.
"Exactly."
"However, everything has a way out." His tone shifted. "There's a method to make the deity voluntarily relinquish your God-chosen status."
"Wait here a moment. I'll fetch something."
As soon as he finished speaking, Hal turned and pushed open the door to his cottage.
The sound of rummaging immediately came from inside.
About several dozen seconds later, Orum saw Hal emerge, holding what appeared to be a dried four-leaf clover.
"Come here, let me put it on you." Scholar Hal beckoned.
To speak with Hal, who wasn't even half his height, Orum had been half-crouching the entire time.
Now, hearing Hal's instruction, Orum shuffled forward a few steps so the other could easily reach his collar.
Hal produced a tiny metal pin, carefully threading it through the stem of the dried four-leaf clover, securely fastening it to a concealed spot on the inside of Orum's collar.
"There we go."
Hal stepped back two paces, admiring his handiwork, satisfied as he dusted off his hands, then asked Orum:
"What do you think?"
"This is..." Orum's fingertips lightly touched his collar as a thought flashed through his mind, a word escaping his lips. "Luck?"
"Exactly, luck."
Noticing Orum's quick reaction, Hal's tone carried a hint of approval.
"Adorn yourself with things the deity detests and persist in doing so, and She'll gradually lose interest in you."
Hal paused here, solemnly instructing: "Remember, you must keep the four-leaf clover on you at all times from now on. Never be separated from it, including during bathing and sleeping."
"Yes, Scholar Hal, thank you!"
At this moment, Orum couldn't be bothered with the fiction of "nonexistent friends" and sincerely expressed his gratitude to Scholar Hal.
Orum then discussed more details with Scholar Hal and gained quite a bit of useful information about deities.
As they were about to part, Orum suddenly remembered a crucial question and turned to ask:
"Excuse me, Scholar Hal, how long do I need to wear the four-leaf clover before it takes effect?"
"Just fifty years, and it will produce significant results." Scholar Hal immediately answered.
Orum: "..."
Damn, you dwarves have a different concept of time than humans!
Fifty years? I'll be dead from Benshaba's torment by then, and you're telling me the four-leaf clover is just starting to work? That's way too late!
"I've really made a mortal enemy of Benshaba now.
Between her and me, it seems there are only two possible endings: either She plays me to death, or I drag Her down from that divine throne and stand up to kick Her..."
Orum touched the four-leaf clover at his collar, eyes narrowed in thought.
"Oh, one more thing." Scholar Hal seemed to remember something and called out to Orum, who was about to leave.
"Though the probability is small, I must warn you: brutal competition exists among the God-chosen.
Especially for evil-aligned God-chosen, their competitive methods are even more intense and bloodier."
"If there's a second God-chosen of Hers (Benshaba's) in this world, she'll come looking for you, kill you, and take everything from you."
...
Blackwater Town, Central Street.
A giant elk standing three meters tall leisurely moved its hooves, walking slowly down the street.
This type of elk, called a giant elk, was a specialty species near the Misty Forest.
With diluted magical beast bloodlines, they were enormous in size, resembling moving small hills.
Once domesticated, these giant elks became common mounts in Blackwater Town. For just a few copper coins, one could ride them around town.
Orum was currently sitting on the broad back of a giant elk, letting the cool night wind brush across his face as his thoughts surged like tides.
Orum used to enjoy doing this.
Whenever he was in a bad mood or faced difficult decisions, he'd board a city bus, open the window, and let the night wind sort through his troubled thoughts.
By the time the bus reached its stop, Orum would have his answer.
Right now was one of those less-than-pleasant moments.
"Just learned I've been targeted by an evil god, my future fate uncertain, and tonight I still have to meet my new boss to secure a decent position.
Heh... good thing I'm used to overtime; my stress tolerance is pretty solid."
Orum recalled his former project leader's life motto:
"As long as the pressure isn't coming today, treat it all like a fart!"
With this motto, Orum had gotten through many anxious nights, and his sleep quality had genuinely improved quite a bit.
Unfortunately, the project leader ended up dragging things out until age 38, going bald without ever finding a marriage partner.
Not long ago, after his sixth failed matchmaking attempt, under pressure from all sides, he exploded at his family, had a huge fight, and stormed out.
Orum never got to hear the follow-up gossip before transmigrating to this world. Sadly, he'd probably never learn how that story ended.
When the giant elk slowly stopped its heavy steps, Orum's chaotic thoughts had calmed considerably.
The project leader's disastrous matchmaking experiences had actually sparked a brand-new idea in Orum's mind.
"I'm this handsome. If I married a wealthy woman, an eligible noblewoman, a countess or duchess, wouldn't that let me skip decades of detours?"
"Sure, I've got a strong stomach, but I can also be a kept man!"
Orum's eyes suddenly brightened:
"In this class-rigid, severely stratified medieval society, ordinary people can only attempt to defy fate through extremely dangerous professions like soldier or adventurer, with nine-in-ten chances of death."
"But if I latch onto a powerful woman, that's definitely a shortcut to success and rapid advancement!"
Entertaining this plan, Orum climbed down from the giant elk.
The moment he turned around, Orum was instantly dazzled by the scene before him.
It was an extravagantly luxurious three-story inn, constructed entirely of gold-plated oak and brilliant emerald-colored glazed tiles, radiating light in the night that was mesmerizing and dazzling.
Above the massive oak door stood two raised golden dragon-scale reliefs that spiraled from both sides of the door all the way to the roof, like two lifelike emerald dragons coiled upon it.
In the carriage parking area at the inn's entrance sat several ornately decorated carriages, their horses draped in gold-embroidered blankets, wheels carved with brightly colored family crests.
Clearly, those who rode these were true kingdom nobles.
The Dragon Heart Emerald Inn truly lived up to its reputation as "Blackwater Town's only treasure."
The visual impact it delivered was far more stunning than any words could convey.
The area in front of the Dragon Heart Emerald Inn was very quiet at this hour, with no guests arriving.
In fact, there weren't many people in the entire town qualified to stay at this establishment.
However, what surprised Orum even more was the highly recognizable massive figure standing before the inn's entrance.
Half-orc Raygore, with his two-and-a-half-meter-tall enormous frame clad in heavy black iron armor, resembled an immovable black fortress that no army could shake, radiating an extremely oppressive presence.
Still wearing that ferocious black iron mask that completely concealed his face, Raygore apparently never removed his helmet.
Raygore was now standing quietly in front of the Dragon Heart Emerald Inn, personally waiting for Orum's arrival!
"Deputy Commander Raygore!"
Orum instantly reined in all stray thoughts, striding forward quickly to greet Raygore.
Though he'd never been one for formalities, the gravity Raygore was displaying made him feel he must respond with equal seriousness.
"You're here. Follow me upstairs. The commander is waiting for you." Seeing Orum arrive, Raygore merely nodded slightly, his deep voice seeming to emanate from beneath the iron mask.
He immediately turned and led Orum toward the magnificent door.
"Felix..." At this moment, Orum's curiosity about this Frost Hawk commander had climbed to its peak.
What kind of person was Felix, to make a powerful warrior like Raygore willingly serve as doorman here?