Extra's Harem: Invincibility Starts with Marriage and lots of Children-Chapter 166 - Kyle Gets a Job

"Please forgive me! S-Saint!" With all the strength in his lungs, the kid yelled as he pressed his head against the ground, sprawled out before Kyle, who now sat atop four dead ruffians—each having died moments apart after trying to attack him.

It wasn't Kyle who initiated the attack or reacted recklessly—after all, they were just ordinary mortals with crude weapons, like common thugs.

Now, seated atop their bodies, he looked down at the trembling boy and said,

"Tell me your tragic story."

Kyle could already guess the boy had been forced into this. The way he trembled in fear strongly suggested coercion—likely a hostage situation, with the thugs threatening his family to manipulate him into attacking.

It seemed this was the only path left for the child.

"Huh? What tragic story?" The boy slowly lifted his head, meeting Kyle's gaze. For a moment, they simply stared at each other until Kyle sighed.

"Then why did you try to attack me?" Kyle asked, already regretting the question—it was clear the boy might not even understand what 'tragedy' meant.

"...Because they stole one of our carriages returning from the Sect," the child muttered, placing his head back down. "They said if I wanted it back, I had to act like a scared kid and kill you." He recalled how, during their journey to the capital, they'd been ambushed—particularly due to choosing a hidden route through the slums to avoid tax collectors.

That path had led them straight into the goons' hands, and their carriage had been stolen.

"A carriage, huh?" Kyle muttered. Even though it was just a carriage, he couldn't dismiss the fact that it clearly held value for the child.

He stood up slowly, stretching his waist—it was time to leave.

"Olea, let's return to the palace," Kyle said to his companion. On his head sat Valeriana, clutching his hair to steady herself, nonchalant in her usual cat form.

A small black cat emerged from the alley and rubbed affectionately against his feet.

Just as they turned to leave, the boy cried out.

"W-Wait! Saint, please help me!" His voice trembled with desperation as he sprinted forward, arms outstretched, trying to block Kyle's path, eyes pleading for mercy.

"Step aside, kiddo. I already helped you once," Kyle said firmly. He had no time to waste—last night's events were bound to stir the nobles, who might demand explanations from Orion.

Given the palace's fragile state, Kyle couldn't afford to delay.

"No?! Come on, aren't you a saint?" the boy shot back, mouth curled in frustration. Kyle's expression twitched—so now the kid was using guilt against him. Whatever his tragedy, the boy clearly had a sharp tongue and a sharper mind.

"I am. But I only help the poor and those truly in distress. Are you one of them?" Kyle asked, noting the tattered clothes on the child.

Still, the fact that the boy had a carriage—and was bold enough to speak this way, even pulling a knife—meant he was not just some helpless orphan. Treating him like a child from Kyle's old world would be a mistake.

"Poor? I—I might not be that... but I am in distress. Definitely!" the child yelled energetically again, clearly seeing hope for favor and help from the saint—someone strong enough to rid himself of many without even lifting a finger.

"Fine. Lead the way. But if this is a trap, I'll make sure you regret being born with legs to run." Kyle narrowed his eyes at the boy's insistence, then sighed, brushing a speck of dust from his robe.

The boy flinched at the words but nodded rapidly. "N-No! I swear! It's just them… they said they'd be there."

With the cat following behind, Kyle allowed the boy to guide them through the narrow, filth-strewn alleys of the slums.

The child's pace quickened as they moved deeper into the maze of derelict buildings—his eyes darting nervously, his steps uncertain.

It didn't take long before three figures stepped out from the shadows ahead, armed with rusted blades and foul grins.

"There he is! The little rat actually brought—"

Thud

The first man dropped mid-sentence, collapsing to the ground like a sack of meat. No warning. No strike.

"Wh-what the—"

Thud

Another one fell, choking briefly before going still.

The third froze, fear overtaking bravado. He turned to run—

Thud

He didn't make it far.

'!'

"...Y-You're strong," the child gasped, his body stiffening as he stared at the lifeless bodies sprawled before them. He gave Kyle a sideways glance, then added as an idea struck him, "Do you want to become a guard for the carriage?"

"Nope," Kyle replied flatly. They kept moving, neither slowing their pace.

"Come on, I'll pay you more than anyone else," the boy tried to bargain. Unlike regular guards who had to move, fight, and risk injury, this man was incredibly strong.

He had been taught by the Sikh leader never to hesitate—if you found someone capable and not suffering, recruit them, even if it meant spending as much money as necessary.

Talent was rare, and his sect already had too much money.

'These kids...' Kyle didn't react outwardly. He definitely needed money, but he knew this child couldn't give him a single small coin—let alone the amount he could earn by healing others.

So, he simply stayed silent.

"Hm, by the way, what did you do to them?" the boy whispered.

"I told them not to exist," Kyle said flatly, stepping over a corpse without so much as a glance. "It's not my fault they listened."

The boy didn't know whether to run or drop to his knees again. He was confused—the man beside him felt harmless, unlike any other cultivator he'd met. There was no threatening aura, no pressure, no energy.

So he did neither. He simply trailed behind silently as they continued on.

Eventually, they reached the edge of a crumbling stone courtyard. And there it was—the stolen carriage, battered but intact, tucked beneath a broken archway.

Kyle approached, then stopped a short distance away before turning to leave. His job was done.

"W-Wait! You helped me—at least let me return the favor!" the child called out, clearly following the strict rules of his newly found sect.

The second rule: repay those who help you with something valuable, equivalent to their kindness.

"Nah, kid, piss off. I don't have time—" Kyle ruffled his hair and turned toward the child, who had already sprinted toward the carriage. Kyle assumed it would be a waste of time—better the child focus on his priorities.

But then Kyle's lips pursed, and his eyes widened.

The kid brushed aside the torn curtain hastily. The carriage—more like a wooden cart in a shattered state—gleamed.

A yellow glow shone from within, reflecting the sunlight that filtered through the gaps in the broken wooden roof.

'Fuck...' Kyle stared at the carriage, then—

[Host, control your mouth-watering. You're embarrassing me.]

Kyle's present situation was like a thirsty man in a desert trying to fill a bucket with drops of water. And now, suddenly, a whole pond had appeared before him.

Because that cart—from floor to ceiling—was stacked with gold.

'I can't give more, or else my rating will fall.' The child, without even counting the gold coins, hugged a small mountain of them that fit in his arms. He approached the other child, hugging them as he looked back, adding, "Yes, please take this."

Olea and Kyle both kept looking at the child, now holding a small portion of gold coins that filled his arms, standing in front of them and offering it to the child.

"Ahem." Kyle, understanding his situation and naturally unashamed, decided that rather than earning pennies by healing people, it was much better to get a decent job. He inquired, "So, how much will you pay for escort duty?"