The door burst open just as the beasts lunged.
I flinched, raising my pathetic stick like it could ward off death. But instead of claws and fangs—light flooded the room. Brilliant, golden light that seared the air like the sun had descended upon the forest.
A shockwave blasted through the cabin. The monsters yelped, shrieked—and were flung backward as if torn apart by invisible blades.
I dropped the stick.
For a moment, I could only stare at the dozen figures stepping through the ruined doorway. Gleaming silver armor, white cloaks fluttering, and weapons bathed in radiant light. Their presence alone felt oppressive—but not in a threatening way. It was more like… reverence. Sacredness.
Then more arrived. Outside, boots thundered through the forest floor. The clearing was swarming with armored knights—dozens of them. No, more.
At least a hundred.
Their formation was too perfect to be anything less than elite. No hesitation, no fear. Each of them bore a symbol etched into their armor—a radiant cross with a sunburst behind it.
Holy Knights.
The real kind. Not fantasy game knockoffs. And they were staring directly at me.
A man with a flowing mantle stepped forward. His hair was pale gold, eyes like burning sapphires, and every inch of his posture screamed command.
"Young Saint," he said, lowering to one knee.
And then he bowed his head.
So did the other knights behind him—row by row, clanging metal ringing in unison as a hundred warriors dropped to one knee before me.
'What the actual—'
I stumbled back, nearly tripping over my own foot. "Wait—me?"
The knight lifted his head, gaze calm but intense. "Yesha the Saint. Forgive our delay. We came as swiftly as we could."
I blinked. "H-how do you know my name?"
His expression softened—like he was looking at something precious. "It was foretold. The Saint would descend amidst the darkened woods, clad in the shell of innocence."
He motioned, and another knight hurried forward, gently removing his own cloak. Before I could protest, they draped it around my shoulders.
It was warm. Way too warm.
'What's going on?'
Another knight stepped forward, frowning in visible distress as his gaze scanned my torn, dusty shirt and scraped knees.
"He's filthy," one murmured in pain.
"His garments... gods above, it's disgraceful."
"To think the Saint was made to wear rags..."
I felt my face heating up. "I-it's not that bad..."
But no one was listening. Before I knew it, someone had already swept me up—literally carried me like I was some glass sculpture. I yelped, struggling instinctively.
"H-Hey! I can walk!"
"We cannot allow that, Your Holiness," said the knight holding me with reverent care, his voice firm but gentle. "Your feet must not touch the soil again until your path is sanctified."
'I'm not made of sugar, damn it—'
But I stopped struggling. Because the truth hit me again.
This body wasn't mine. I looked down at my arms—thin, pale, barely filling the cloak. I was twelve again. Small. Fragile. To them, I was just a kid. A sacred kid, apparently.
'Is this why they're treating me like a porcelain doll?'
I stopped fidgeting and let myself be carried. It was still weird, but... kind of warm, too. It had been a while since anyone held me like this. Not since I was small in my old life.
They carried me outside, and that's when I saw the full scope.
A hundred knights, all mounted on radiant steeds that looked more myth than horse. They formed a wide protective ring around the cabin, swords drawn and eyes scanning the forest like they were expecting an army.
A massive carriage stood in the clearing behind them—no, not a carriage. A sanctum on wheels. Gilded, reinforced, and emanating holy light. A portable temple.
'They brought that... for me?'
The knight gently placed me into its cushioned interior, adjusting my cloak and making sure I had water and a warm compress for my tiny scrapes.
This was insane. Overwhelming. All of it.
"Is this... normal?" I asked aloud, my voice barely audible.
The pale-haired knight from before stepped into the carriage and knelt before me again.
"It is right," he said. "You may not remember your past life, nor the burdens you once bore, but know this: you are not alone in this world, Your Holiness. We will serve you unto death."
I opened my mouth to speak. Closed it. Opened it again.
'They're not joking.'
I'd played games where you start as the "Chosen One." Read books where some kid gets reincarnated with hidden powers. But this?
A literal army of holy knights bowing to me like I was the second coming?
This was something else.
"Uh... okay. Thank you," I mumbled awkwardly.
The knight's eyes glowed with pride, like I'd just given a divine decree.
I leaned back into the silk-lined cushions as the carriage started to roll forward. Part of me was still reeling. But another part—the quiet part—was beginning to accept it.
'So this is my new life.'
Yesha. The Saint.
Twelve years old.
A support class with powers locked behind some cosmic wall.
And apparently, the center of a prophecy I never asked for.
The forest faded into the distance as the procession moved like a shining tide, cutting through the shadows with their presence.
And for the first time since I woke up in that shack—I didn't feel so alone.
As the carriage rocked gently beneath me, a creeping thought began to nibble at the edge of my mind.
'I forgot to thank them.'
A hundred knights just risked their lives to rescue me, knelt like I was holy, and here I was—awkward, disheveled, blurting out "okay, thank you" like I was ordering takeout. Worse, I hadn't even spoken to half of them. I didn't bow, didn't show respect—hell, I even called out to them without titles. I'd basically been treating them like NPCs.
My heart started to race.
'Wait—what if they think I'm ungrateful? Or arrogant? What if they think I don't deserve the Saint title?'
I peeked through the velvet curtain of the carriage window. Rows of mounted knights moved in synchronized formation, their armor gleaming beneath the sunlight, banners fluttering with that same ornate crest I'd seen in my status screen. I swallowed hard.
'They rescued me. They carried me like I was glass. And I didn't even thank them properly.'
My chest tightened with guilt. I'd treated them so casually—just a hurried word or two before getting swept away. They bowed. They knelt. I... barely acknowledged it.
'I need to say something. Anything.'
I hesitated, then pushed the small window open further. A soft breeze carried in the scent of pine and dew-soaked earth.
"Um—!" My voice came out louder than I intended. A few of the knights at the front turned at once, their helmets glinting as they looked my way.
"I-I just wanted to say... thank you! For earlier! Really. I mean it."
The response was immediate—and startling.
Several of them straightened in their saddles, almost as if struck by something sacred. The knight from before, the one with pale gold hair and that quiet aura, turned his head. His expression softened, eyes lowering briefly in reverence.
"You honor us, Your Holiness," he said, voice steady. "To be thanked by the Saint is... beyond privilege. It is a moment we will carry all our lives."
'Wait—what?'
I blinked, confused by the weight in his voice. Around him, more of the knights had slowed just slightly, and I could see it in their faces. Not just satisfaction, but a deep, almost spiritual fulfillment. One of them even looked like she was about to cry.
The tall woman beside him bowed her head slightly from horseback. "Such grace from Your Holiness... We are unworthy, and yet we are blessed."
I didn't know what to say to that. My mouth opened, then closed again.
'Was a thank-you really that big of a deal?'
I nodded dumbly and retreated from the window. The latch clicked shut, and I sat back, stunned.
'They're acting like I gave them a divine commandment... from just that.'
The title "Saint" wasn't just ceremonial, then. It meant something. Something profound.
'To them... I'm not just a kid they rescued. I'm a living symbol.'
And with that realization came the weight of it all.
They revered me. They followed me. And I had no idea why.