Cold.
It's cold.
Why is it so cold?
It wasn't just the cold—it was heavy. A burning sensation arose in his chest as the air escaped him. The darkness, the lack of direction, the uncertainty of whether he was sinking or rising—it all caused disorientation.
Then, the darkness was pulled away, and the light arrived. A strange pressure pushed his body in some direction, and then the air returned.
COUGH, COUGH.
"What's happening?"
Coughing flooded his senses as his blurred vision began to recover. Patterns started to emerge, and he realized he was naked.
Surprise!
CRASH!
The clatter of metal rang out as his vision cleared.
"For our Creator God... Father!"
The girl ran off, shouting "Father!" repeatedly.
It hurts, my body hurts.
As water poured from his lungs and coughing continued, he tried to stand. His foot slipped on something, and he fell to his knees.
I can breathe now. What is this?
From the water, he retrieved what looked like a golden gauntlet.
Bubbles rose around him, bringing forth more pieces of gold—boots, shoulder guards, a belt, greaves.
It's my armor!
"But that's impossible. This is—"
Suddenly, a sharp pain invaded his mind. Clutching his head, he writhed in the water, trying to alleviate the stabbing sensation.
"Help! Aaaah!"
"Quickly, bring the ointment!"
"Yes, Father!"
"Stay calm, my son. Everything will be fine!"
Carried by the overwhelming pain in his head, he collapsed unconscious onto a bed.
Unaware of who or where he was, he closed his eyes and forgot everything.
The next day, he woke up with a face of confusion and disbelief, unable to comprehend what his eyes saw or his mind processed.
The place where he found himself turned out to be a church, and the people who helped him were the priest and the nun in charge of it.
Stale bread and warm milk eased his hunger.
"So, just to confirm, what's your name, my son?"
"Santos."
"You said your age is…"
"Twenty-four."
"When were you born?"
"The first of Inacio."
"Your parents are…"
"Braulio and Minerva."
The priest sighed.
"Very well, Santos. God has brought you to our world. We do not yet know His purpose or yours."
Outside the door, the nun and the soldiers kept their eyes fixed on Santos. Their fear and nervousness betrayed their strange behavior.
"You see, Santos, in ancient times there were warriors known as Reciardos—warriors said to be capable of ending any calamity or conquering entire nations if they so wished. The world was keenly aware of them, even knowing who the strongest among them were. Then one day, they all began to disappear, one by one, and no one knew why.
"That was until several months ago, when people began to emerge from the Mirror of Water, the place where you appeared. After churches and other places became flooded with dozens of people arriving each week, we started noticing a peculiar coincidence in their names.
"Though not all were confirmed, among the names of you arrivals and the ancient Reciardos, we concluded that you…"
What Santos heard left him reflecting during his brief stay.
"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light. And God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness."
—The Book of Genesis
Everything felt surreal to Santos—a dream, a nightmare, or perhaps…
A wish? No, that's impossible.
Santos returned to the Mirror of Water chamber, only to be stunned. The room was piled with weapons, armor, and other strange items.
Taking small steps, Santos approached, wondering how he would carry everything on his own. He remembered that some of these items weighed several pounds.
Not even a cart could bear all this weight. Will I have to sell my belongings?
At his feet, Santos noticed something—a backpack rested on the water.
An adventurer's backpack… That will do.
"Hm, if it's not too much trouble, would you mind helping me?"
The soldiers refused. Apologetically, Santos resumed his task, organizing and gathering his things.
He grouped them by preference:
Vestments of the Holy Church: Bastard sword, light boots, traveling cloak, and healing vials. Red Thorn Armor: Lightweight flaming sword, chainmail, and paralysis vials. Black Chainmail Set: Black attire, hooded black cloak, short black sword, and survival items. Heavy Black Armor: Greatsword, spiked pauldrons, heavy boots, and the Conqueror's cloak. Golden Armor: Lightweight mail, white cloak, and the legendary sword—
"Santos, the Father says to see him before you leave."
"Understood, thank you."
I'll wear the Vestments of the Holy Church.
After packing the armors and items into the Adventurer's Backpack—a legendary item capable of holding objects far beyond its weight and size—Santos dressed himself in the Holy Church's attire.
Light boots replaced heavy ones, and he donned a chainmail shirt adorned with a red cross. A bastard sword rested at his waist, along with a small pouch and canteen.
Fully dressed, Santos hoisted the backpack and headed for the exit.
Walking through the neglected halls of the church, he saw the faces of those who witnessed his emergence from the Mirror of Water. Soldiers escorted him to the door, where the priest and the nun awaited.
"Santos, may God guide you to your destiny. I pray you accomplish whatever it is you've come to fulfill."
My destiny, you say.
"I hope so too. Thank you, Father."
"God bless you."
Drawing a cross in the air, the priest bid Santos farewell. His silhouette receded into the distance, disappearing into the lower hill city.
"Could it really be him?"
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know what I mean, sir. Santos—the Golden Knight."
"Ah, yes."
They all stared intensely at the spot where he vanished, their emotions a blend of longing, joy, and awe.
"He is Santos, the first of the Hundred."
Their emotions overflowed as they witnessed the departure of history's strongest hero.