Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 68: Qualitative Changes

From the far corner, a younger advisor, barely into his twenties, adjusted his glasses. "I think we’re missing the bigger picture," he said, his tone cautious but firm.

"This town’s never been memorable in the regionals. We’re always the small dot on the map that no one pays attention to. Sending someone like Ivaim changes that."

"How?" snapped the older man.

The young advisor shrugged.

"Because people love an underdog. Even if he doesn’t win, they’ll remember the town that sent the fighter who made giants look clumsy. That kind of story spreads."

A plump woman in a green dress, who had remained quiet until now, finally spoke.

"But what if he fails spectacularly? What if he gets injured, or worse, dies? That would make us the laughingstock of the region."

Halvin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

"And if he succeeds? Even a single victory at the regionals could bring more attention to our town than we’ve had in years. More trade, more travelers, maybe even a sponsor or two for next year."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the decision settling over them.

The older man scoffed.

"You’re gambling with our town’s reputation."

"And isn’t that exactly what Ivaim does every time he steps into the arena?" the young advisor countered.

"It’s a risk, sure, but it’s calculated. The people love him, and they’ll rally behind him. That alone is worth something."

The woman in the navy coat tapped her finger on the armrest of her chair.

"If we send him, he needs proper support. A coach, better equipment, maybe even some training in actual regional rules."

Halvin nodded slowly. "That can be arranged. We still have a few weeks before the event."

The plump woman sighed, shaking her head.

"It’s unconventional, I’ll give you that. But maybe that’s what we need—a little unconventional."

Halvin glanced around the room.

"All right, then. Let’s take a vote. All in favor of sending Ivaim to the regionals?"

Hands went up one by one, hesitant at first but growing in confidence as they saw others commit.

The older man grumbled but raised his cane in mock defeat.

"Fine. But don’t come crying to me if he trips over his own feet out there."

Halvin smiled faintly, a glimmer of excitement breaking through his usual reserved demeanor.

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"Then it’s settled. We’ll send the Underdog. Let’s see if he can surprise them the same way he’s surprised us."

...

Ivaim scratched his ear, his face twisting in mild annoyance.

"Is someone talking badly about me?" he muttered under his breath, glancing around the quiet alleyway.

The faint hum of the bustling marketplace buzzed in the background. He had heard the rumors going around through town—the talks, the chatter, the occasional loud exclamation in the tavern.

People were starting to call him "The Underdog," the unexpected hero of the arena.

That reputation wasn’t accidental; it was something he had carefully cultivated, ensuring he’d be the obvious choice to represent the town in the upcoming regionals.

But that wasn’t what concerned him right now.

Ivaim sighed, his eyes narrowing as he turned his attention to the faint glow of the system notifications flickering in front of him.

[You have gained a Believer +1]

[You have gained a Believer +1]

[You have gained a Believer +1]

Ivaim leaned against the rough brick wall, crossing his arms as he thought it over. On the one hand, gaining believers was a clear sign of his growing power.

Each new believer strengthened him, made his abilities sharper, more precise. It was part of the plan—after all, he had given Williams a skill that could subtly sway people to his side.

But this? This was far beyond what he had anticipated.

Although grateful for the sudden increase in believers, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at the back of his mind. Williams had always been... unpredictable. Mischievous.

And, if Ivaim was being honest with himself, a bit of a schemer with a streak of cruelty.

’What did that idiot do this time?’ he thought worriedly, kicking at a loose stone.

The pebble skittered across the cobblestones, the sound lost beneath the distant calls of merchants.

He paced in slow circles, his boots scuffing against the ground.

’He better not have done something stupid. If he’s out there tarnishing my name, turning me into some kind of unorthodox evil god...’ Experience tales at novelbuddy

His eyes darted to the horizon, where the temple spires loomed faintly in the distance. Just the thought of those self-righteous zealots made his stomach churn.

"I’ll get hunted down by those damn temples!" Ivaim hissed, his voice low and sharp as he kicked a stray pebble, sending it skittering across the cobblestone street.

He was mid-step when another system notification flashed in front of him, its faint glow catching his attention.

[You have gained a Believer +1]

[Believer Count : 45]

[Your Authority is undergoing qualitative changes]

[Your Title is undergoing qualitative changes]

Ivaim raised an eyebrow, his annoyance briefly replaced by curiosity.

’Qualitative changes?’

He muttered under his breath, his mind racing. He didn’t fully understand what the system meant, but he was certain it had to be something significant.

His lips quirked into a small grin.

’I wonder... would reaching fifty believers or perhaps a certain number lock in these changes?’

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the faint hum of nearby market chatter fading into the background.

But then, his grin faltered. His thoughts circled back to one particular line: [Your Title is undergoing qualitative changes.]

’Wait,’ he said in his head, his brow furrowing.

’Why is my title changing? It won’t be ’Spirit with Good Luck’ anymore?’

Ivaim began pacing, his boots clicking softly against the stones. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to piece things together.

The notifications had been clear about one thing: something fundamental about his existence was shifting.

’Maybe it’s because of...’ He hesitated, the voice in his head dropping to a whisper. ’The original soul of this body.’

’If the system recognizes me as a different entity,’ he inferred, ’then my title might be adapting to fit... me.’

The idea wasn’t entirely comforting. While it explained the shift, it also reinforced something he had been trying not to think about: that this body wasn’t originally his.

’Still,’ he said, forcing a small smile, ’if my title’s changing, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.’