Parents selling their own family members? Reinhard bought them without hesitation, paying whatever price was asked and taking them into his growing group. He even went to the brothel, where every single person working there—male and female alike—was drawn toward Reinhard the moment he stepped through the door, as if he were a magnet pulling iron.
To those men and women who worked in that place, they wouldn't have minded giving their services to Reinhard for free. He was just that special in their eyes, his presence alone enough to make them want to follow him anywhere. But Reinhard didn't accept their services—he bought their freedom instead, adding them to the ever-growing crowd trailing behind him.
But Reinhard bought them all. Every last one he could find. The city of five hundred thousand dropped to two hundred thousand that day, as three hundred thousand people were purchased, freed, or simply chose to follow Reinhard of their own volition.
In fact, this wasn't limited to just slaves or those Reinhard had directly bought. Ordinary citizens who had no chains binding them, people who were technically free, simply followed the crowd and fell in step behind Reinhard as well. His presence was magnetic, his aura pulling people in like gravity. Who wouldn't follow someone like him?
Who could look at the way he moved through that city—buying the broken, freeing the enslaved, treating the lowest of the low with a dignity they had never once been shown—and not feel compelled to walk in his footsteps?
"Let's go build our own city," Reinhard said with a grin, and without a second word of hesitation, the three hundred thousand people behind him began to move as one, following him as he headed toward the city gate to leave this place behind.
But such a thing—an exodus of this magnitude—who in their right mind would allow that to happen? What city lord would simply stand by and watch the majority of his population walk out the gates?
"Stop it right there! What is the meaning of this?" The city lord, a Rank Eight warrior, called out from above, glaring down at the sight unfolding below him from the top of the city wall. He had received reports of a massive, unprecedented movement of citizens following a single individual through the streets.
At first, it had seemed like a curiosity, something strange but ultimately harmless. But as the numbers swelled from hundreds to thousands to tens of thousands and kept climbing, he had no choice but to come and see for himself.
What greeted him was the sight of his own people—his servants, his workers, the foundation of his entire city—streaming toward the gates behind a red-haired young man he had never seen before.
"I bought them. I believe I have the full right to take those I own with me, right?" Reinhard asked with a polite smile, looking up at the city lord without a trace of intimidation in his expression.
The Rank Eight warrior paused for a moment, his glare faltering slightly as he processed Reinhard's words. He looked past the young man at the sea of people stretching back through the streets behind him—slaves he had purchased, citizens who had joined willingly, an army of the dispossessed and the disillusioned.
"I can't allow you to take so many people from this city. I will buy them back from you," The city lord said with a firm shake of his head, his tone carrying the authority of someone accustomed to having his decisions treated as law.
Looking at three hundred thousand people was a staggering number. He could barely see one percent of them from where he stood, and there were far more out there, clogging the streets and filling every road leading to the gate.
"Forgive me, but I have no interest in selling what's already mine," Reinhard said with a calm shake of his head, his smile never wavering. Although he could understand where the city lord was coming from—this was a catastrophic loss for the city by any measure—he wasn't going to take a single step backward on this matter.
What was a city without its people? What was the upper class without the lower class to hold them up? What Reinhard had done was strip away the very foundation upon which this city was built.
He had taken the labor, the bodies, the expendable masses that made the entire structure function—and that, of course, could not be allowed. But it was grimly funny how those in power never seemed to value the lower class until they got up to leave.
The common people, the slaves, the workers—they held the elite up to the sky with their backs and their suffering. And without them, the elite would fall.
"Boy, don't step on my kindness. And those following you—they will all be forced to pay dearly for this act of rebellion if they dare to stand alongside you," The city lord said, his voice booming across the crowd.
He was using a martial art that amplified his words, projecting them outward so that every single person in the vicinity could hear the threat as clearly as if he were whispering it directly into their ears.
His words had their intended effect. Fear rippled through the crowd like a shockwave, and Reinhard could feel the people behind him tensing, their fragile resolve beginning to crack under the weight of the city lord's threat.
Many of them had spent their entire lives being crushed by people exactly like the man standing on that wall. They knew what happened to those who defied authority in this world. And that reaction—that fear spreading through his people—didn't sit well with Reinhard at all.
"Stop scaring my people," Reinhard said, his eyes narrowing as his smile vanished entirely for the first time. His voice was quiet, but the edge in it was unmistakable.
To this, the city lord was annoyed beyond measure, his patience with this arrogant young stranger reaching its absolute limit. Without another word, he flashed forward from the wall, drawing his sword mid-descent, and cut toward Reinhard's neck in a single, devastating strike.
It was a blindingly fast attack, faster than lightning itself, closing the distance between them in a span of time too short for the human eye to track. But this was merely the city lord's base speed—he wasn't even trying, wasn't even remotely serious.
He intended this to be a casual execution, a display of overwhelming force to remind everyone watching who held the power here. But Reinhard also didn't need to try. He didn't draw a weapon, didn't shift into a stance, didn't even tense his body.
He simply waved his hand in a lazy, almost dismissive motion and backhanded the city lord across the face. The impact sent the Rank Eight warrior flying backward through the air like a ragdoll, his body smashing through building after building, crashing through walls of stone and wood in a cascade of debris and dust that left a trail of destruction stretching across several city blocks.
"My apologies for the delay, let's get going," Reinhard said with a warm smile, turning back to face the crowd behind him as though nothing of significance had just occurred.
The people closest to him were frozen in shock, their mouths hanging open and their eyes wide. Those further back had no idea what had just happened, couldn't even see the front of the procession from where they stood, so those who had witnessed it quickly began spreading the word through the crowd.
The news traveled like wildfire, and within moments, the entire group of three hundred thousand knew—the man leading them had just swatted aside a Rank Eight warrior with the back of his hand. The shock was universal.
From gathering such a massive following in such a short span of time, Reinhard had naturally attracted a wave of new blessings. The world, ever eager to support him, had granted him the Blessing of the Ruler, the Blessing of Leadership, the Blessing of Charisma, and the Blessing of the Hope Bringer—each one tailored to his role as someone who was rapidly becoming a figure that people rallied behind.
They were all useful in their own right, but one should understand that they didn't do much for Reinhard in practical terms. After all, Reinhard alone—without any blessings—could already rival what these new blessings provided.
He had gathered this massive crowd using nothing but his own natural charisma, his own leadership ability, and his own instincts for inspiring loyalty. His raw capability in these areas already matched what the blessings offered, but with the blessings layered on top, his effectiveness in these areas was effectively doubled, and that was a welcome bonus.
The Blessing of Leadership was the most practical of the group, as it came with a tangible buff that extended to all of his followers, increasing their physical capability, their endurance, and their mental fortitude.
It even granted them dramatically higher stamina, allowing even the weakest and most malnourished among them to travel for days without needing to rest as long as they were following Reinhard.
For a group of three hundred thousand people, many of whom were former slaves in terrible physical condition, this blessing alone was the difference between an exodus and a death march.
Reinhard approached the city guards who came forward in formation to block the gate and stop him from leaving. But what was funny—and perhaps telling about the state of this city—was that a number of these guards threw down their weapons the moment they saw Reinhard approaching, abandoning their posts and falling in step behind him without a word.
They chose him over their oaths, over their pay, over the city lord they served. While others among the guards remained loyal to their duty and either attempted to attack Reinhard directly or turned their weapons on the crowd itself, targeting the defenseless civilians to force compliance. Every single one of them was killed in a single strike by Reinhard, cut down before their blows could land.
Even those who tried to be clever, circling around to attack the rear of the procession where they assumed Reinhard couldn't reach in time, found him appearing in the blink of an eye to save his followers.
He was everywhere at once, materializing wherever danger emerged and neutralizing it before a single person under his protection was harmed. Reinhard even asked the world for a blessing to help protect these people more permanently, to give them the means to defend themselves when he wasn't standing directly beside them. And the world, ever devoted, created two entirely new blessings just for him.
[New Blessings Created.
Blessing of the Followed One: Those who follow him and have genuine faith in him shall, in return, be able to draw upon his power. The greater the depth of their belief and the more sincere their loyalty, the greater the effect they receive. If a follower's loyalty reaches a high enough threshold, they can even use his own abilities to some degree, channeling a fraction of his strength as though it were their own. In return, Reinhard's own power increases with the number of followers he has and the depth of their collective loyalty to him.
Blessing of the Loyal Followers: Those loyal to him shall have the power to tap into his reserves of strength, allowing them to erase their weaknesses and stand tall where they would have otherwise collapsed. There is a limit to how much each individual can draw, but the stronger the follower is in their own right and the deeper their loyalty runs, the more of his power they can access.]
When these blessings were born and took effect, the change was immediate and visible. Those in the crowd who had already become Reinhard's most devoted followers—the ones whose faith in him burned the brightest—found their very beings beginning to transform.
The starving slaves who had been barely able to walk on their skeletal legs felt their hunger vanish entirely, their bodies filling out as lean muscle formed over frames that had been nothing but skin and bone moments before. Color returned to pallid faces, strength flowed into trembling limbs, and broken postures straightened as the mana Reinhard provided restructured them from the inside out.
Reinhard felt the drain as his own mana reserves were pulled upon to fuel their transformations—after all, that energy had to come from somewhere, and he was the source.
"Take as much as you all need, I have enough," Reinhard said to them, his voice carrying across the crowd with quiet confidence.
Although a few of the newer followers were confused by his words, unsure of what he meant or what was happening to the people around them, those who were already deeply loyal understood immediately.
Some of them began to cry, tears streaming down faces that had forgotten what hope felt like. They could sense it—feel it through the connection the blessing had forged between them and Reinhard. They could feel how vast the reserves of the man they had chosen to follow truly were. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, bottomless ocean and being told to drink as much as they needed. No matter how much they drew, the level never seemed to drop.