Chapter 590: (Since the author is a mountain goat in human form, they forgot to set this - correctly. this is supposed to be CH586) A god Called Mikha

"Master is indisposed now..." a voice said from Benjamin’s mouth. The tone carried almost no inflection, flat and absolute, a statement of fact rather than a warning. "He must rest his body as it is trying to integrate a massive influx of power. Go away."

"There is no need for hostility." The woman released the tight line of her shoulders and straightened to her full height.

The tension that had coiled through her frame slowly unwound, muscle by muscle, until she stood tall and unguarded before the bed.

Moonlight from the open window washed across her fair skin and the long fall of violet hair that still half-concealed her bare chest.

"I only came to see if he was a threat," she said, her voice sounding with careful neutrality. "Even for a god-touched, he is unusual."

"He is unique." The emotionless voice answered at once from Benjamin’s sleeping mouth.

The golden eyes in his otherwise peaceful face remained fixed on her without blink or warmth. "Master is not any normal entity, and I would appreciate it if you did not lump him together with the other reincarnators."

The woman studied those glowing eyes for a long moment. There was something in her gaze that went beyond simple assessment.

Then a quiet chuckle rose in her throat, and a small smile settled on her beautiful face and stayed there, curving the corners of her lips with something that might have been amusement or might have been recognition.

"I have never seen an Ego Partner so protective of their master," she said, amused. "You do not even care to ask who I am. You care for nothing other than your master. It is almost as if you are in love with him."

A brief pause followed. The silence stretched long enough to be noticed, long enough to suggest that the words had landed somewhere unexpected.

"...I do not have the capacity to feel love... I do not think so," the voice replied, the flat tone sounding with the faintest thread of uncertainty—a crack in the smooth surface of certainty that had defined every word until now.

"If you have a soul, you can feel. And you have a soul." The woman placed one hand lightly over the center of her own chest. "My name is Mikha, and I am a god. I am also a disciple of Mika’el, the Celestial of war."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," the voice answered firmly. "Now, if you would let master rest—"

"Wait..." Mikha interrupted, the earlier calm cracking. Desperation flickered openly in her golden eyes, raw and unguarded in a way that seemed at odds with her divine bearing. "If he does not intend to cause harm to Thaad... would he be willing to help...?"

She explained the binding constraints that governed her existence.

Divine laws and ancient rules forbade her from direct interference in the ordinary conflicts of men, even though she had been set as a guardian over this place.

She had protected the settlement from spiritual and cosmic threats since the days it was only a village of scattered houses, before the walls had been raised, and the guild had been formed.

Yet her role was limited to quiet counsel given only when the proper conditions were met, whispers in the ears of leaders who might or might not listen, nudges that could be completely ignored without consequence.

Against a god-touched, however, the restrictions loosened. If Benjamin had proven hostile, she would have been permitted to act.

If he had come to destroy, she could have raised her hand against him without breaking the laws that bound her.

"So... I would like him to protect the city," she finished, gaze fixed on the sleeping man’s face.

Silence stretched for several heartbeats while the golden eyes regarded her without expression. The night air stirred the curtains, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked once and fell silent.

"Master is not a convenient shield or spear to use when problem arises," the cold voice said at last.

Mikha’s expression fell at the words, the hope draining from her features like water from a cracked vessel. "But if it is the protection of this city, you needn’t worry. Master has decided to save it."

Joy broke across Mikha’s features so suddenly it seemed to light the dim room. She clasped her hands together and clapped once, quietly, all bright smiles and visible relief.

Thanks spilled from her in a soft, rapid stream—gratitude for the decision, and for the reassurance.

She spoke of the weight that had pressed on her shoulders for centuries, the fear that one day something would come that she could not protect against, the loneliness of watching over a place that did not know she existed.

She turned as if to leave through the open window again, then hesitated and looked back. The moonlight caught her profile, illuminating the delicate line of her jaw and the soft curve of her lips:

"Please, tell me your name. For you to be so sentient, you must have been named, yes?"

"...Sys is the name my master gave me." The voice answered, then shifted without pause, as though the question of its own identity was of no importance compared to what it needed to say next. "More importantly, would you listen to my proposal?"

Sys laid out the difficulty in plain, unadorned terms.

The entity called "the rat" had so far avoided detection even by powerful beings. No one could reliably pinpoint its location or the full method behind its strikes.

It moved like smoke through the fingers of those who tried to grasp it, leaving behind only bodies and questions.

The coming confrontation carried real uncertainty. Therefore Sys requested assistance—not in the form of open battle, but something quieter and more personal.

"Eh?!"

Mikha took several quick steps backward.

A deep blush rose across her cheeks and the upper slopes of her bare chest.

Her golden eyes widened in startled disbelief, and her hands rose instinctively as though to ward off the words that had just been spoken.

"B-B-But... that is a bit..."

"What are you dissatisfied with?" Sys asked, still speaking without much inflection. The golden eyes bored into Mikha without mercy or warmth, patient and unrelenting. "Master already has a lot of power, so I do not want him to receive any more. At least not at he moment. However, your grace would be sufficient. It is a factor that would empower and bless him without weighing him down... Kiss Master and give him your grace."