Takarion, the Monk Born in the Perfect Era
Ian Raven's friend, the monk Takarion, was a man who had hit the jackpot with his era.
No matter the times, humans are born and die in the blink of an eye. And every human is born with at least one innate talent.
When that talent aligns perfectly with the era, they become a legendary figure who lives large and prospers. The problem arises when talent and era clash.
A salaryman born with swordsmanship genius? A medieval farmer gifted with coding skills? They'd probably die without ever realizing their potential, sniffling about how unfair the world is—clueless to the brilliance they buried inside.
Life is short, and time slips away in a flash. Even discovering and honing your talent requires luck.
Kira Laventa was a prime example—a girl born with acting chops, yet dumped into a medieval fantasy world. A tragic failure of reincarnation effort.
Takarion, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. Born with absurd luck.
Like 90% of imperial citizens, Takarion—no, back then he was Max—was the son of poor farmers.
The year Max was born brought a brutal drought. As people dropped dead from starvation left and right, baby Max (age 1) had to fend for his own survival.
Of course, he couldn't walk yet, so his parents scouted the path for him (if he'd been mobile, he'd have figured it out himself).
They "donated" (or chucked) Max at the nearest monastery, and he became a monastery servant.
Under the monastery's protection, Max survived and naturally followed the path of monkhood.
Young Max was a timid, fearful kid. He didn't mix well with other children and got bullied constantly thanks to his shy nature.
The sympathetic monks taught him various bits of knowledge and looked after him.
Max marveled at the world's principles while reading scripture, his heart pounding at the saints' dazzling exploits.
Whoa! Heroes! Saints!
In truth, saints were far from typical heroes. They devoted themselves to the Heavenly Faith, spreading heaven's will.
But young Max didn't grasp that. Saints never lost, always succeeded, and basked in love from gods and men alike.
The exact opposite of Max, who got smacked around by the popular kids, ridiculed as a fool-baby god, and despised.
Every time the jerks beat him, Max thought:
'If Saint Marcus saw me...! You'd all be dead meat...!'
He imagined Saint Marcus swooping in for some divine smackdown.
Holy punch! Holy kick! You devil-spawn bastards would piss yourselves and flee to a sulfur-stinking pit!
Saint Marcus! Punish those fuckers!
"What's he mumbling about?"
"Sounds like he's fantasizing his dad charging in to save him lol."
But Max's delusions... remained just that. Delusions.
Saint Marcus never appeared to save him. The jerks never got their comeuppance.
A normal kid would have ditched the fantasies and focused on reality—scheming ways to get hit less.
But not Max. He dove deeper into even more elaborate delusions, crafting vast, intricate worldviews to escape!
Forget the cold reality. Imagine Saint Marcus...
'Marcus has a girlfriend named Cassandra, a cool beauty with an S-rank body. Her catchphrase is 'Hmph! Pathetic!' But deep down, she loves Marcus...'
Hee hee. Fun...
Max's fantasies grew more refined day by day.
One day, a monk commissioned Max to transcribe and restore the Gospel of Marcus.
"Me?"
"Yes. You know Saint Marcus's entire life story by heart, don't you?"
Before he knew it, Max had become a full-blown saint otaku.
He could ramble about Marcus all night!
Having learned letters from chatting with the monks, Max easily started copying the gospel.
But he didn't stop at copying—he added his own annotations and ideas.
To make it cool (a servant's thoughts wouldn't cut it), he used the pen name Takarion.
Damn. Sounds like a Golden Empire intellectual!
"It's done!"
"Huh?"
The monks were baffled reading Max's Gospel of Marcus.
The transcription was fine, but the weird additions!
"Marcus shoots light from his finger, felling the demon... Where'd you hear this?"
"An angel told me in a dream."
"...?"
(Translation: sleep-talking.)
But it was too solid to dismiss as nonsense. The detail felt genuinely angelic.
Saint Marcus thriving in that plausible worldview? Even the monks thought he was badass.
Yes. Max—or author Takarion—had a gift for creation.
The insane talent for writing killer fanfic!
"Max, I'll lend you the library. Keep writing."
The abbot smelled money in Max's work.
Incredibly, the abbot had editor instincts. His talent whispered: This sells.
Backed by the abbot, Max churned out the Gospel of Marcus – Takarion Ver. like a man possessed.
Soon, it exploded in popularity.
"No way! This is peak fun!"
"Hell yeah! That's what a gospel should be!"
"Marcus! Takarion! They're gods!"
"...? Isn't that blasphemy?"
Takarion's Gospel of Marcus flew off the shelves like it had wings.
Monks ditched boring vanilla gospel copies for Takarion's versions.
Human copy machines (monks) cranked out books like mad.
The abbot hawked them to cities and merchants.
Takarion lounged arrogantly at his desk, munching snacks, plotting the next arc.
In under five years, a miracle happened.
The penniless monastery sat on a pile of gold!
"From today, we praise Takarion! Takarion! He's a god!"
"No, that's still blasphemy..."
A few devout monks fretted over the corruption, but the abbot—hooked on profits—had no plans to stop the "gospel publishing business."
Soon, Max was called Takarion more than his real name.
The monastery's pillar, its star, its megastar author.
"Yo! Shala! My brothers!"
"Shala! Takarion! How's writing today?"
"Ahh. Perfect as always."
The gloomy boy mumbling dark fantasies while getting beat? He'd become the haughty Superstar Author with his nose in the clouds.
# The once-in-a-lifetime genius author who even mocked the gods (for real), Takarion, descends upon Drbosi Castle.
The monks lost their minds.
"That's Takarion... Behold that majestic presence!"
"Ahh... Was my life leading to this moment, gazing upon Takarion's noble face..."
"What are you doing? Takarion! Claim me now!"
"Damn it! Takarion! I love you...!"
Groveling like idiots.
Ian and the [normies] couldn't fathom the madness, but the monks were 100% serious.
The masterpiece blending fun, emotion, and faith—the author of Gospel of Marcus stood before them!
Your life-fave author in the flesh? No holding back!
Takarion, used to such reactions, chuckled heartily.
"Well... I'm grateful for the attention, but it's a bit overwhelming (lol)."
"Oops! We overstepped!"
"We have so many questions! Ugh... Can't hold back! Let's debate now!"
Meeting their fave pro author turned the monks feral. They ignored everyone.
It got so bad, they brushed off the Drbosi Baron and his wives.
No matter how legendary Takarion was, he was just a monk. Before the rightful noble lord of the land, he should bow.
Yet Takarion acted like he owned the place, treating the baron couple like guests.
Finally, the priests snapped.
"Enough! Takarion! You come as a guest and forget basic etiquette? Shameless!"
Takarion brazenly replied,
"Sorry... I've never done society stuff, so my manners suck... I'll try, though (cough)."
"God, wanna slap him..."
"Priest Roman! That's too much! Slap Takarion?!"
The moment priests touched Takarion, monks swarmed like bees, shielding him.
Idiot fans making enemies, huh? Plenty already hated his guts, and now the monk defense squad fueled more haters.
Ian was one.
"Everyone, calm down. Let's greet properly."
The Drbosi Baron calmly took charge. No one dared speak.
"Pleased to meet you, Takarion. I'm the Baron of Drbosi."
"Takarion here. But this castle's vibe... doesn't sit right..."
The priests—especially haters of his Gospel of Marcus—glared murderously.
"I came to help since the baron's ill... but the mood's too scary... Kinda wanna go home..."
Kira whispered to Ian,
"His speech is weird. Fell from an apple tree as a kid or something."
Maybe.
Pointing out speech was petty, but Takarion's was that atrocious.
He mumbled sullenly to himself,
"Brought a holy relic special for the baron... But if the vibe stays like this, I might bail..."
A devout priest couldn't take it anymore and yelled, "Just fuck off to your monastery!"
Chaos erupted again.
Ian's first instinct upon seeing Takarion was spot-on.
The guy was a walking troublemaker just by existing.
Middle school, high school, military with him? Headache just thinking about it.
'Whatever. Good luck, Baron Drbosi.'
Lucky it's none of my business.
...Ian once thought that.
# Takarion of the Golden Finger visited Drbosi Barony, naturally, to snag a saint title.
The 13 scripture saints are Main Order Saints, treated as special.
Later clerics who performed miracles or feats became Power Order Saints, ranked just below.
Main Order is fixed at 13, but Power Order? Infinite minting.
Pull off a miracle or achievement, boom—saint.
But mass-producing cheapens the title. Risks tainting the original 13's names.
So saint reviews are strict: Was a miracle performed? Scale? Witnesses? Impact?
Saving Baron Drbosi from an unknown ailment? Easily a miracle of healing.
That's why local clerics swarmed, deep in prayer marathons.
Who knows? Devout prayers might move heaven to cure him.
Win big if it works, nothing lost if not. Sweet deal.
Takarion came with the same casual vibe.
Brazen enough to make the baron flip and relapse laughing.
One man's life-or-death, and you're gacha-ing for feats?
But success cures the baron too, so spiteful but tolerable.
If the baron were still bedridden, that is.
Luckily, Ian Raven, Eredis Manskal, and Kira Laventa neatly solved it.
The clerics clapped awkwardly.
Yay! Baron! Congrats! Live healthy now~
As the incident wrapped and cleanup began...
Takarion showed up.
Perfect latecomer.
'Me... Takarion... go home empty-handed like a loser?'
Takarion was greedy.
He skyrocketed via Gospel of Marcus, but wouldn't stop at famous author.
Saint! Bishop! Archbishop!
From loser start to legend finish!
That was his dream. He bolted from comfy monastery for it...
Returning empty? Unbearable!
'Evil spirits in Archbishop Rainine's territory, huh? Head there.'
Avoided fellow Heavenly Faith turf, but now? No time for pride.
Take the hate, forge a feat!
Fanbase shields him anyway!
As Takarion plotted his trip—
"B-big trouble!"
A servant burst in panicking.
"What's the fuss?"
"The relic... the relic...!"
Relic?
Takarion tilted his head, recalling the abbot's loaner.
Said it was for curing the baron... Not some epic treasure, just a white, roundish rock.
"The relic broke!"
"What?!"
Takarion envisioned his own head shattering.
No, what the hell breaks like that!
The servant babbled,
"It wasn't a rock—it was an egg!"
"Egg???"
"Yes! It hatched!"
Takarion reeled from the servant's words.
"That mage Ian touched the relic, and it... hatched!"