Chapter 180 Resurrection

On the Aifala Continent, "resurrection" was a matter both simple and difficult.

It was simple because, in a Spellcaster's spell list, the earliest spell involving the concept of "resurrection" was the 3rd Circle [Revivify].

This meant that clerics, Paladins, and other related classes and subclasses who had just reached Class Level 5 could acquire the ability to revive the dead.

It seemed incredibly potent, perhaps even a little overpowered.

But in the real world, given the harsh conditions it demanded, this low-circle spell became exceptionally useless.

That was without even mentioning the spell's required casting materials, which were prohibitively expensive for an ordinary Class Holder.

The mere restriction that it could only revive a creature that had died within the last minute was enough to strip away the beautiful illusion of "resurrection," reducing it to an obscure, unpopular category.

After all, under normal circumstances, what kind of person would have the ability and conditions to use this spell?

Aside from high-ranking nobles who died in accidents, there were only adventurers who encountered danger during their quests.

As for the former, if one truly had the wealth to permanently hire a Class Holder capable of casting the spell as a bodyguard, kept the casting materials on hand year-round, and was willing to bear the risk of the resurrection failing...

Then perhaps [Revivify] would be of some use.

But for adventurers, casualties among party members almost always occurred in the middle of combat, and usually during extremely high-pressure situations.

How could anyone guarantee they would finish the battle within one minute?

Even if the fallen member was crucial to the team and they decided to cast the spell mid-battle—forcing the frontline Warriors to withstand the pressure and stall for a minute, and draining the precious time and mental energy of the party's sole Spellcaster to cast the spell...

The other restrictions of [Revivify] would drag the entire team into extreme peril.

Beyond the condition that the time of death must be within one minute, it also required the deceased's body to be completely intact, without any missing parts.

Even if successfully resurrected, the target would only return to a heavily wounded, near-death state, making them no different from a corpse on the battlefield.

Throughout this entire process, all team members had to collapse their formation inward to protect their Spellcaster from interruption.

If the enemy possessed even a shred of intelligence and realized what was happening, they would either destroy the corpse or find a way to break the Spellcaster's concentration.

The resulting magical turbulence and mental backlash from a failed spell would plunge the party's mage into a paralyzed state, unable to cast anything.

Then came the domino effect, dragging the whole team into the abyss of death.

Of course, the number of spells on the Aifala Continent was as vast as the sea, with countless variants and refined improvements.

Aside from [Revivify], there were quite a few other spells that possessed a "resurrection" effect.

But most of those were high-level spells above the 6th Circle.

Furthermore, "resurrection" itself required pulling a soul that had already reached the outer planes, had been summoned into a divine kingdom, or had been forged into a soul coin by greedy devils, back to the Material Plane.

This placed exceedingly high demands on the Spellcaster's professional expertise, mental fortitude, Class Level, and other aspects.

Isidore was the head cleric of the Nym Moon Goddess Church. At Class Level "9," he had not yet completed his class advancement and was still a few steps away from the "Transcendent Tier."

The restrictions of his Class Level meant that he could only master spells up to the 5th Circle.

Reviving someone who had been dead for several days was quite difficult, to say the least.

But... it wasn't entirely impossible.

The first, and most important, point.

He was a head cleric who worshiped the [Maiden of the Moon], "Selune," and presided over a large Church.

Under the gaze of his goddess, he possessed spellcasting abilities in certain domains that far exceeded those of other Class Holders at his level.

The second point.

Tonight was the "Feast of the Moon," an event that occurred only once a year and marked the time when divine moonlight was at its most active.

Finally, there were the items currently arranged neatly beside the Elf's corpse on the altar, looking like burial goods:

Two top-quality blue diamonds of the highest purity, mined from the Tiegu Mine;

Half a drop of Golden Tree Sap from the ancestral tree of life in the Verdant Forest;

A small Resonance Crystal, modified and synthesized by the Chromatic Ring City Gravity Laboratory;

And several other expensive auxiliary materials.

As for their specific value...

Leaving aside the favor spent to ask for Isidore's help.

It could only be said that just the half drop of Golden Tree Sap was priced at nearly five figures in the mage shops of Chromatic Ring City.

Cornell had already made up his mind before coming here.

If this kid dared to renege on his debt after resurrecting, he would go straight to the Whispering Forest, uproot their ancestral tree, and sell it for cash, treating any extra profit as interest.

Reluctantly stuffing the Sheep-Deer Figurine into his chest pocket, Cornell, at the cleric's urging, dragged his indigo ramie robes over to the altar for one final inspection.

His gaze swept over the blond Elf's exquisitely pale and bloodless face, and he felt a surge of relief.

Fortunately, that black-robed Goblin in the Goblin Lair didn't know any necromancy spells.

Otherwise, if the Elf's corpse had been tainted by undead aura, or even transformed into an undead creature...

Then reviving him would require the 9th Circle [True Resurrection]—a spell barely anyone on the entire continent knew, and he could never afford the fee to hire a Spellcaster of that caliber anyway.

"It's ready. Let's begin," Cornell said.

He stepped back from the altar and nodded to Isidore, who was waiting to the side.

Subconsciously, he reached to take out the black wooden statue he had just tucked away, but then he glanced at the Elf's corpse lying quietly on the platform.

After a moment of thought, he suppressed what felt like a physical instinct.

His slightly raised hand lowered, hanging somewhat unnaturally by his thigh.

Isidore didn't notice the mage's strange behavior.

This resurrection spell was an incredibly difficult challenge for him, as he had yet to step into the "Transcendent Tier."

He had no mind to pay attention to anything else.

From the very beginning, he had been fully focused on adjusting his state. Even his breathing faintly synchronized with the silvery-white misty light drifting above the Church, as if he were trying to merge his entire being with the Moon Goddess Church.

Seeing Cornell confirm the casting materials, he stopped meditating and slowly walked up to the altar where the Elf's body lay.

Stopping a few steps down, Isidore brought his hands up, resting them gently over the holy symbol on his chest. The edge of the symbol—a mysterious eye encircled by stars—peeked out from between his thumbs and forefingers.

His eyes were already closed. He tilted his head up slightly, letting the brilliance refracted through the stained-glass window bathe his face.

His lips moved.

A muffled, dream-like prayer echoed through the air.

Magical particles quietly rippled.

Drawn by some invisible force, the silvery mist drifting like gossamer above the Church hall lazily descended. Guided by the cleric's mental power, it gently draped over the Elf's body.

It coated him like a layer of glowing frost, enveloping his entire form.

At the same time, the bright moonlight beaming down from the Church's dome like a spotlight suddenly condensed!

It instantly brightened the somewhat dim interior of the Church.

Under the moonlight, the casting materials arranged on the side visibly dissolved, seeping into the Elf's flesh.

The resurrection ritual proceeded in silence.

Cornell stood quietly in the shadow of a nearby pillar, his eyes reflecting the bright, serene moonlight.

He possessed a mage's acute observational skills on a microscopic level.

This allowed him to faintly make out a nearly imperceptible, blurry humanoid silhouette with the slender traits of an Elf. Guided by the moonlight, it slowly drifted down from the dome toward the corpse on the altar.

The sacred environment of the Moon Goddess Church, combined with the bright moonlight of the "Feast of the Moon," created the optimal casting environment.

No one would disturb them, and there were no other sources of interference.

It allowed Isidore to focus his absolute, undivided attention on the spell itself.

The ritual was going smoothly and nearing its end.

Watching the phantom silhouette slowly descend through the air, Cornell wondered if he should follow the Elf home after he revived, just to ensure he didn't skip out on his debt.

Suddenly, a bizarre sensation bloomed in his chest.

It wasn't a normal feeling of heat, cold, pain, or itchiness.

It was an abrupt, eerie feeling, as if the senses specifically targeting his chest had been amplified countless times.

Even through his shirt, Cornell could clearly feel the exact texture and carvings of the wooden statue pressing against his skin.

He felt a twinge of discomfort.

But a thin mist seemed to cloud his mind, making him subconsciously ignore how abnormal and bizarre the phenomenon was.

He simply looked away, lowered his head, and reflexively pulled the wooden statue from his pocket.

Before he could examine it, the silvery-white moonlight at the edge of his vision vanished in an instant.

He snapped back to reality.

Distracted by the carving, he had missed seeing the Elf's soul merge into the body with his own eyes.

But based on the current situation...

"Is it over?" Cornell asked the cleric by the altar, tightly gripping the statue in his hand.

"It should be..."

A fine layer of sweat already covered his forehead.

Isidore's face was somewhat pale, and his exhausted eyes stared at the blond Elf's corpse with confusion.

"My mental power flowed smoothly, and I established a connection with his soul through the divine spell."

"Normally speaking, the spell should have succeeded."

Hearing the cleric say this, Cornell took two steps forward, staring intently at the motionless Elf corpse lying quietly on the altar.

"Please no. With casting materials this expensive, doing this again would wipe out my entire fortune," Cornell said.

"Lest I really have to make him pay me back with his family's ancestral tree..."

He stopped mid-sentence.

Cornell suddenly felt the wooden carving in his hand throb.

His heart skipped a beat. He was just about to look away from the corpse in front of him, but before his gaze could drop—

Before his eyes, the fingers of the blond Elf lying on the altar abruptly twitched.

His attention snapped right back.

"Windstring?"

As if hearing Cornell call his name, the blond Elf named "Windstring" slowly opened his eyes, revealing a pair of emerald-green eyes devoid of any life or emotion.

Like a robot running a pre-programmed sequence, he bent his arms, pressed his palms against the cold surface of the altar, engaged his core, and stiffly, slowly sat his tall frame up.

Then, he froze again.

His eyes stared motionless into the empty air.

"Is this... normal?" he asked the cleric beside him, seeing the scene unfold.

Although Cornell had experience resurrecting teammates, this was his first time doing so with the help of divine moonlight during the "Feast of the Moon."

It was Isidore's first time as well. Faced with his old acquaintance's confusion, he didn't know how to answer and could only reply ambiguously, "He just resurrected, so maybe he's still adapting?"

"Let's wait a moment and see."

As soon as the words left his mouth.

The blond Elf, who had been sitting blankly on the altar with a vacant expression, seemed to gradually adapt, just as Isidore had suggested.

His neck twisted, and he slowly turned his head.

The long golden hair hanging by his ears swayed gently, revealing the slender, pointed ears underneath and the wooden earrings characteristic of the Elf race.

For some unknown reason, Cornell felt time in his vision suddenly slow down to a crawl.

It slowed enough that he could even see the Elf's slightly trembling eyelashes, the flush of blood returning to his lips with new life, and...

And, in the corner of his eye, the sudden surge of holy silver light erupting from Isidore!

He realized something was wrong.

But this thought had only just surfaced. Before his mind could process it and drive his body to react—

The blond Elf's cold, emotionless emerald eyes locked onto him as his head finished turning.

He met Cornell's gaze.

Bang—

The first thing to shatter was the Silver-Iron Bracelet hidden beneath his long sleeve on his right wrist.

Specks of silver-blue light sprayed from it, twisting in the air as they faintly formed the shape of a shield.

But before it could fully materialize, it scattered into a chaotic mess of magical particles.

Then, the second thing to explode was the Golden Necklace around Cornell's neck, which he kept hidden under his clothes year-round.

The dazzling, complex runes on its surface flickered with bright light twice, then fell completely dead, like a short circuit.

The necklace itself disintegrated into ash and dust.

Finally, it was the black rune between Cornell's eyebrows, formed by two overlapping hollow circles.

It flashed faintly, causing the space around him to abruptly twist and blur, turning his body slightly ethereal.

But just an instant later, it vainly reverted back to normal.

The black rune melted into a dim stream of light and vanished into the air.

Just a single glance.

This veteran mage—whose Class Level approached the "Transcendent Tier," who hailed from the Hawthorne Royal Academy, who was an apprentice to an arcane master from the Chromatic Ring City tower, and who boasted a profound background—

Had all the protective Magic Equipment and enchanted runes on his body turned into useless scrap.

Behind him, the serene, sacred silver moonlight took form, tightly encasing and protecting the now-unconscious cleric Isidore.

Leather boots touched the ground.

In the boundless, dead silence where even the sound of breathing had vanished, the blond Elf clumsily and stiffly stepped down from the altar.

He approached the mage.

Under the terrified, bloodshot gaze of the mage, he reached out and gently plucked the statue from Cornell's hand.

Step by step.

He stumbled out of the Church.

Crash—

It was the deafening noise of the stained-glass window shattering.