Extra's Harem: Invincibility Starts with Marriage and lots of Children-Chapter 164- Saint Kyle

The slums of Lower Saffron at the edge of the capital city were not built—they were spat out, stitched from rotwood and despair, shacks leaning like drunks after dusk, roofs patchy with dried leaves, ragged cloth, or simply open to the whims of the sky.

Smoke curled from broken chimneys, not from firewood, but from burnt trash and old spirit talismans repurposed by the desperate.

The ground was mud—always—and every step was a gamble between solid earth and sucking mire.

In these rundown alleys, where even Qi refused to linger, they had gathered.

Old men with eyes like cloudy glass, women with children wrapped in strips of bloodied linen, coughing until their ribs rattled.

A one-armed beggar scratched at the stump, the skin cracked like dried earth.

An emaciated boy, bald from sickness, sat on a wooden cart wheeled by a sister with more bandages than fingers.

The air reeked—not of death, no, that was too clean—but of festering hope and meat gone sour.

And all of them stared at the end of the street.

At the open courtyard where a single stone platform stood, wide enough to seat a god, yet weathered like it belonged to a beggar king.

There sat the Saint. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Or so the rumors said.

A man with neither sect emblem nor spiritual beast. No disciples. No banners. Just him. Cloaked in white, skin bronze as if burnt by inner fire, eyes closed in some silent penance.

A bowl before him. Empty.

He didn't charge a single copper.

And that was the damn problem.

"Free?" spat an old woman with missing teeth, cradling a weeping child with a swollen jaw. "Ain't no such thing as free. Even the Gods take something."

"But Nana, he made that man walk again," whispered her grandson, tugging on her robe. "The one with the twisted feet. You saw."

"He probably twisted 'em back when no one was looking," she muttered, clutching the child tighter, but her place in line didn't change.

The line itself curled like a snake down the alley, through the refuse and whispers. No guards. No crowd control. Only the unspoken law of the desperate: wait your turn, or get torn apart.

"He'll steal your soul," a voice muttered.

"I got no soul left," replied another with a dry laugh. "Sold it to that alchemist three winters ago for a healing pill that didn't work."

A child sniffled. "Mama, why's the man not moving? Is he sleeping?"

"Hush, baby," her mother answered, eyes locked on the Saint. "He's praying, maybe. Or listening. Saints don't need to sleep like us."

"But I hurt, mama…"

The mother lowered her gaze. "We all do."

Further down the line, an old cultivator who had long lost his core leaned on a broken spear, his robes little more than ash-gray rags.

"He fixed her lungs," he whispered to no one, blinking at the thin girl with burn marks trailing her jaw who was now singing, clear as spring wind, in a corner. "No Qi. No pills. Not...even a touch. Didn't even leave a scar."

"Doesn't make sense," grunted another. "No one gives without wanting."

"Maybe he's a scammer."

"Maybe he's just some demonic cultivator."

"Maybe he's dying."

None of them left.

And still, the Saint sat. His hands resting on his knees. Eyes shut. As if waiting.

'Hey system, was some shiny artifact from those nobles?' Kyle seated with his eyes closed, clearly set up himself as a saint given if he were to go around calling himself God, most probably people would not believe.

It is better for him to call himself a saint, as he inquired about the artifacts he had naturally collected from the nobles whom he killed at the banquet and had taken after returning from the monastery.

As he returned to the empty banquet to gather these EXPs.

[ Searching for required criteria....]

[ God Cosplay torch artifact detected ]

[ The effect can create a hollow behind the user while creating the light effects around them in a way that portrays them as holy and pure.]

'Oh, now we are talking,' Kyle after hearing that he at least got something good enough.

The selection he got from those nobles nodded, feeling satisfied as he instantly activated that artifact while his eyes for a moment glanced towards the internal energy he had collected to—it was just 1400 years of cultivation.

This amount of Qi which he collected was expected from those nobles given they were not warriors and did not give themselves proper time to cultivate, instead just ingested elixirs, pills and such things which unnaturally boosted their strength, which definitely did not get boosted, instead just the yield of the cultivation got increased, while the overall amount of Qi also did.

Some even have a fetish for playing god by possessing such artifacts.

Of course, not all of them were like that given here. Left a few of the nobles, including Ravina, an old man and a few others whom he was aware that they were wise enough to understand the severity of the situation and naturally in the future would be profitable for him.

Kyle's lips twitched.

He opened his eyes slowly, like the world wasn't worth the trouble of seeing, and then lazily got up from the platform with the grace of a drunken prophet.

The worn white robes he wore fluttered slightly as he raised one hand—just one. Palm up. Like he was about to bless wine at a banquet.

Nothing happened.

No thunder. No golden clouds. No sword rain.

Not even a bird fart.

For a few awkward seconds, silence pressed hard, thick as boiled soup.

Then came the light.

A soft halo burst to life behind his head—courtesy of the "God Cosplay Torch" artifact—casting long radiant streaks over the filthy ground.

His shadow lengthened, distorted, pure white wrapping around his frame like he'd just stepped out of some heavenly mural.

The light fell on the crowd in patches—on boils, on scars, on cracked lips and festering bandages.

"I, the lord…" Kyle muttered theatrically, lifting both arms now like a tragic play actor, "Bless you all with my powers."

Caw caw

Finally, crows passed by in the air while mocking the stunned humans on the ground, falling for useless tricks.

Until—

A girl with rotting skin blinked—and blinked again—as color returned to her cheeks. A man with cracked ribs straightened, confusion dawning as the pain simply… left.

Blood clots faded. Scabs peeled. Bones settled.

No symbols. No chants. No visible Qi.

It was happening because they were close. Because they were within range—especially those within a 26-meter range were too much healthy if removed malnutrition due to food even that had healed to some extent.

Kyle lowered his hand and finally spoke.

Voice quiet. Flat. Almost bored.

"Congratulations. You've been healed."

No one reacted.

He blinked. "You can stop crying now."

Still nothing. A few stood there, mouths open.

Kyle glanced at the woman in front—the one with the bandaged child.

"You're welcome," he said. "Don't forget to tell your neighbors. Bring a friend. Next session's tomorrow at the monastery. Still free."

"Tch, at least react, man." Kyle just walked away from the slums, not even turning back, as not a single sound reached him.

Of course, he could have stayed and healed the other people outside his domain's range, but he needed to let others think that his powers were infinite.

Instead, he wanted those who were intelligent and might get this information to feel that the blessing was just one time a day, where those who were close to him were blessed first.

Soon enough, the news would reach others, and additionally, he needed to get rid of some people who were going to make a move soon.

Swish

"Master Kyle, I hope—" Olea came out of his saddle, standing beside him as she was his guard in case of any attack like the previous time, clearly focusing her senses sharply enough while knowing one thing: Kyle could not heal himself like he did to her.

The healing was different from what happened with Aleriana or her.

So, if she were to take an attack on her body instead of him, then he might just save her.

Of course, this was the theory that Princess Aleriana gave her while formally ordering her to not let anything happen to Kyle.

Olea, too, however, believed what the Princess said. After what happened yesterday, she realized that she might not like Kyle's absence, which prompted her to not return to the Ghost Sect for two whole days.

"Just Kyle, or something like Darling?" Kyle said, nudging his elbow into her as he looked towards Olea.

While doing so, he suddenly felt a new presence within his domain, the intention of the individual who entered was clear, instantly making his eyes slowly turn towards the direction where he saw a small boy.

"U-uncle, I-I," the young boy stammered, looking at the two people, among which the woman had magically appeared out of thin air while clearly holding a dagger laced with poison behind her back.

His hands were trembling, his body malnourished, while his eyes looked towards the man.

"You shouldn't come near me with those thoughts, kid," Kyle narrowed his gaze and formally said, stretching out his hand and placing it on the boy's head, ruffling his hair as his eyes looked around.

He noticed some eyes peering from the alleyway in his direction, clearly feeling that just now, the killing intent he sensed from the boy was palpable.

Yet for a child to harbor killing intent, it was clear that someone was behind all this.

It became even more evident as he saw people slowly emerging from the alley, holding rods, bats, swords—things that were not typical of cultivators.