Transmigrated As The Perverted Young Master



The woman eased the door open just enough to peer outside, revealing a glimpse of the hushed and anxious voices emanating from within the safety of the church.

"Come on in," she said to Damien, her voice a mix of caution and reluctant hospitality. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she added, "The holy priest will show you any potions he has within the church."

Stepping aside, she created a narrow path for him to enter, her gaze momentarily fixed on the congregation huddled behind the shelter of the church walls. Once Damien had crossed the threshold, she carefully pulled the door closed, her movements deliberate and wary.

Within the church, dim candlelight cast shifting shadows that danced across the floor, tables, rails, and altars. The soft glow provided a stark contrast to the encroaching darkness outside, a small beacon of hope amidst the nightmarish surroundings.

As Damien's eyes adjusted to the interior, he took in the sight before him. A diverse assembly of elves, dwarves, and humans were gathered together, their expressions a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and desperation. They clung to each other like children seeking refuge from an approaching storm, an image that painted a vivid picture of the collective anxiety that hung heavy in the air.

The ambiance within the church was heavy with tension, the room filled not only with the flickering light of candles but also with an unspoken understanding of the imminent danger that lurked just beyond their sanctuary's walls.

An air of unease settled over the congregation as Damien entered, their apprehension palpable. Loved ones were drawn close, seeking comfort and safety in each other's arms. Like startled animals retreating from a perceived threat, they edged toward the shadowed corners of the church, their gaze fixed on Damien with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Silent questions hung in the air, unvoiced yet demanding answers.

As the priest emerged from the crowd and approached the middle-aged woman, their hushed conversation caught Damien's attention. His keen senses picked up on fragments of their discussion, enough to grasp the essence of their concern.

"We needed those potions, in case something happens here," the priest murmured, his voice laden with an urgency that underscored the gravity of their situation. "We can't trust someone from the outside with valuable potions. That's all we've got."

"We are safe here, right? You said it yourself. This man can save lives. Put your ego aside and aid him. There are thousands of people outside who need saving, and we are going to hoard a bottle of potion that we aren't even sure we need," her response rang out, deliberately louder this time. Her words were a plea, not just directed at the priest, but at the entire gathering within the church.

The room seemed to hold its breath, caught between the tension of opposing viewpoints. The woman's resolute stance was a stark contrast to the hesitancy that lingered in the air like a heavy fog. Her conviction, fueled by desperation and a need to act, resonated with those who had sought refuge within the church's walls.

"You are such a--" the priest began, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and concern, only to be swiftly silenced by the woman's cutting interjection.

"What did you just say?" Her voice, though raised, cut through the room like a blade. Her unwavering gaze bore into the priest, demanding accountability.

The priest stumbled over his words, his initial defiance giving way to a hasty backtrack. "I mean no harm and no offense. We just need to be careful. I mean, who knows what this guy really is."

A disapproving murmur rippled through the crowd, a manifestation of their collective frustration at the priest's hesitance. The woman seized the moment, her voice rising to a crescendo that echoed off the walls of the church. "Is this a joke to you? We are surrounded by monsters, and you are worried about a little white hair? This guy is saving our lives. He is not an undead."

The tension between them was almost palpable, a clash of perspectives that highlighted the fragility of their situation. The woman's words carried the weight of truth, a stark reminder of the dire circumstances they faced.

"You don't know that," the priest responded, though his objection seemed feeble against the force of the woman's conviction.

"I saw him punch one of those things," she declared, her voice unwavering. "A creature that tore men and women and children apart. A creature that can't be stopped by the likes of us. But he-" she pointed at Damien, her finger a symbol of hope. "-he can destroy them. He might be the young hero, who has been hiding all his life and then came out to save us all!"

Damien almost cringed, but he kept his cool.

"Whoa... Did you really punch that creature? Is your sword real?" A small child, no more than six or seven years old, piped up from his mother's secure embrace. His innocent curiosity cut through the charged atmosphere like a breath of fresh air, momentarily alleviating the tension that hung heavy in the room.

"Hush!!!" The woman's reaction was swift, her hand clamping over her son's mouth as if to both shield him from his audacity and the potential repercussions of his question. She instinctively pulled him a little closer, an unconscious protective gesture that spoke volumes.

Amidst the collective hush that followed, no one articulated the multitude of questions that danced in their eyes. Did he truly confront an undead with nothing but his bare hands? Was there more to the story than met the eye? Uncertainty mingled with awe, weaving a complex tapestry of emotions that only intensified the palpable atmosphere.

A soft chuckle emerged from Damien's lips, a sound that carried both humility and reassurance. "I did," he answered, his tone gentle yet resolute, addressing the child's inquiry directly. His hand found the hilt of his sword, a silent affirmation of his capabilities. "I did punch that creature, and with this," he patted the weapon that hung at his side, "I have slain countless of them."

The room seemed to collectively inhale, absorbing his words as if they were a lifeline. The child's innocent query had unwittingly bridged a gap, allowing a glimpse of hope to pierce through the veil of doubt. Though the shadows of uncertainty still lingered, Damien's quiet assertion and the weight of his sword held the promise of protection, of a potential ally in their desperate fight for survival.