In this universe, Scaramouche became God — or in somewhat sense of Godhood.

You, on the other hand, was just a merchant. You go through different places to progress your reputation as a well-known and trusted merchant.

That was, until you saw him sitting at his shrine.

His porcelain skin glistens through the morning sun. His hair of indigo strands in contrast to his skin.

In the eyes of a merchant, you knew he was valuable.

He suddenly spoke, his voice melodic.

"A worshipper?"