164 The Chosen Savior

Titles abound.

Well, that’s to be expected—after treating so many individuals.

It seems people aren’t just from the city anymore, but also from nearby towns, drawn by rumors of me.

Still, when numbers grow like this, it’s inevitable—some of them are bound to be unpleasant.

There are those who demand treatment with an air of arrogance.

Ah, their words remain incomprehensible.

I can only grasp the general intent through tone and demeanor.

Of course, I do not treat those who look down on me.

Who would willingly heal someone so irritable?

I didn’t choose this role—I merely began treating people without realizing it. I don’t do it out of preference.

I can’t acquire any more titles. Frankly, there’s no benefit to me in this.

I hold the title of Savior, but my essence is merely vulgar.

If you treat me with proper respect, I might deign to acknowledge you.

I have never experienced being fawned over—neither in this life nor the last—so I feel no ill will.

Huh huh huh.

Praise me more. Praise me more.

But if you approach me as an equal or above, I decline entirely.

Do you understand?

I can erase everyone with a single mood shift.

Why do you speak down to me?

Are you foolish?

When such people appear, I either retreat into the home or transfer to another location immediately.

I avoid involvement.

Just being near them fills my anger gauge.

I’d prefer to kill them quickly.

Yet I cannot entirely discard this current state of veneration.

Therefore, I am lenient. I merely ignore you.

I am extremely kind.

Yet among them, there are those who are astonishingly persistent.

An old man who keeps coming despite a full week of being ignored—standing tall, speaking to me as if nothing happened.

Honestly, irritating.

Most people, after being ignored, seem to sense they’re being viewed coldly in the streets, and either stop coming the next day or change their behavior. But it’s precisely these stubborn ones who cause problems.

They’re always the ones with power or wealth, or both.

The people around them look extremely uncomfortable, yet no one dares speak up.

No one knows what would happen if they did.

Still, power, money, even violence—none of it matters to me.

Power?

It only works on humans.

I am a spider.

Money?

What good is that to eat?

If it can’t be eaten, I don’t need it.

Violence?

Do you really think you can win against me?

I can't be defeated unless there are at least a hundred human-class dragons.

Ignoring the old man shouting again today, I retreat into my sanctuary.

No human force, no matter how hard they try, can breach my current sanctuary.

However, fire—don't touch it.

If you persist, I might just snap you in half.

It's a bother for everyone around.

As long as that sort exists, I'll retreat immediately.

If someone truly waits for healing, they'll miss it because of that old man.

Well, not my concern.

The fault isn't mine. It's the ones who irritate me.

I'm healing you for free. A little selfishness is acceptable.

I confirm the old man's condition afterward through clairvoyance.

Face flushed crimson, stomping his feet and shouting at his attendants, scattering them in anger.

Wow.

An adult behaving so disgracefully.

Does he not feel the cold glances from the people around?

Ah, no, no.

I don’t want to become someone like that.

Then again, can I even call myself a child right now?

I’ve been alive for over two years, but my mind is still that of a former high school student.

Then again, how old does a spider monster have to be to be considered an adult?

No idea.

I don’t even know if they have lifespans at all.

They’re immortal, after all.

With that in mind, I push the old man out of my thoughts.

A dandy might be tolerable, but I have no interest in some greasy, plump, unkempt man.

Night.

Multiple figures approach silently.

Extremely well-trained—no sound, no scent.

Still, they failed to bypass my detection.

They are completely clad in black.

Slightly different, but evoking the image of ninjas.

The ninja group moves swiftly into my home.

They adjusted a thread using a tool, created a gap, and slipped through.

Foolish.

If they touch the thread, the disturbance will be transmitted to its owner—after all, they've gone to such lengths to maintain stealth.

These ones are competent, but this is likely their first encounter with spiders.

Combat.

Yes, that is their intention.

Me.

An assassin from earlier today?

Testing my limits, trying to force compliance?

Or perhaps capturing and training me?

Irrelevant.

I am not, by nature, a savior.

If that is their aim, no mercy will be shown.

The ninjas advance cautiously through the home.

Eight in total.

They have not detected my presence.

They could be killed swiftly with a surprise attack, but I will wait for them to make the first move.

That allows me to claim legitimate self-defense.

Thus, I reveal myself openly.

Activating my usual skill—tyrant's blade, normally sheathed.

Ooh ooh.

They're trembling. Trembling.

Hmm?

A man resembling a leader speaks to me.

But I do not understand his words.

I tilt my head.

I do not know how this gesture is perceived, but the ninjas shift into combat readiness.

Four approach me.

The remaining four are preparing magic.

Huh. Four individuals constructing a single spell.

A combined spell?

I did not know such a method existed.

It resembles the way I normally activate Abyss Magic using parallel consciousness.

Still, I won't allow such a technique to be unleashed within the house.

Four people in the process of preparing magic are pierced through by earth spears.

I was tormented badly by Alaba, but when facing an opponent capable of earth-element magic, one must treat the entire ground as a weapon.

Standing still to prepare magic would make one an ideal target.

Huh?

The remaining four approaching from that direction?

They’re already blown to pieces by the wire blades I’ve spread in front of me, invisible to the eye.

Ninja must die.

No mercy.

Just kidding.