Lackey's Seducing Survival Odyssey

After the massive, devastating battle, everything fell into a haunting silence.

The once chaotic ground now stood eerily still, and the night wind, now a gentle breeze, whispered softly through the air as if nature itself was trying to soothe the wounded land.

The people who had gathered to witness the clash were frozen in place, utterly shaken and overwhelmed.

They had been stunned into speechlessness—and many of them nearly dropped to their knees when their eyes fell upon Aether. His body was engulfed in radiant, white holy flames that flickered like the essence of a higher power.

It was a sight that defied all reason, something far beyond anything they could possibly understand. It didn’t feel like they were watching a mortal anymore… it was like a divine being had descended among them.

“His hand is not healing at all,” Helena muttered under her breath, her voice trembling, her face contorted with helpless pain.

She looked down at Aether, who lay unconscious on the ground, His arm—once strong and warm—was now horrifying to look at. His entire hand had turned pitch black, twisted unnaturally, and bulged with thick, dark, bloody veins that throbbed faintly under his skin.

It looked like something had eaten away at it from the inside, leaving it charred, ruined, and far beyond the reach of ordinary healing.

Sera clenched her teeth and bit her lips, the frustration clear on her face. Even her advanced healing magic—something that had saved countless lives—was utterly useless on him.

No matter how many spells she cast or how much power she poured into them, nothing worked. Nothing.

Sera frowned deeply, glancing at the damage again before speaking in a low, uncertain voice, “Maybe… it’s a backlash. Maybe it’s the consequence of using a power far too great for his body to handle…” She paused, eyes narrowing with frustration. “I don’t know. I’m not sure… but… what I do know is that his hand is… it’s not going to heal. Not like this.”

‘Oh, Mother… please…’ Sera silently prayed, her heart pounding with desperation. She then looked at Helena and quickly said, “Try healing him with me. At the same time. Maybe if we both pour everything we have…”

Both of their hands began to glow fiercely with holy light, the ground around them illuminated by the divine energy pouring from their bodies. They focused all their magic, all their will—but nothing changed. Not even an inch of recovery. His hand remained blackened, twisted, dead.

“A-Archpriestess?” Helena’s voice broke, soaked in fear and panic. Her hands trembled, and tears threatened to fall from her eyes. “Why… why isn’t it working? Why is he not healing?”

Even Sera, as composed as she always was, was now struggling to hide her dread. Fear coiled in her chest like a snake. Still, she took a long, steady breath, forcing herself to remain strong, and forced a small smile onto her lips. “D-Don’t worry,” she said quietly, “He’ll be fine… I’ll figure something out. I swear.” Her voice tried to carry strength, but inside, she was drowning.

She had no answers. No plan…. Only a desperate hope.

Suddenly—

“In the end… I lost, huh…”

A weak, strained voice echoed behind them.

Helena quickly turned her head as she spotted Finnian, his body trembling, barely able to stand. His clothes were torn and soaked in blood, and he clutched his side where a deep wound continued to ooze. He wore a crooked, broken smile as he looked at Sera—who didn’t even turn to face him.

Even without seeing her expression, Finnian understood. Still, he smiled weakly and said, “I’ll honour my word, Archpriestess… Thank you… for everything.”

He turned to walk away, limping painfully, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Wait.”

Finnian’s steps froze.

His heart skipped a beat. A spark of hope lit in his chest.

She had called out to him… She wanted him to stay, didn’t she?

After all… wasn’t he her favorite?

He slowly turned around, face filled with anticipation… but Sera still hadn’t turned to face him. She stood beside Aether’s unconscious body, unmoving, silent.

And then she spoke, her voice cold and low.

“He is not a slave.”

“Huh?” Finnian blinked, confused.

Sera continued, her voice now sharper, more commanding, “He is the son of Xara Seraphine. He is no longer a slave. The next time you speak to him… show him the respect he deserves. Otherwise…” Her head turned slightly, her grey eyes shifting toward him with a dangerous gleam, her pupils narrowing like a blade, “There will be no mercy from me.”

“…” Finnian’s mouth went dry. His knees wobbled, and he nearly stumbled backwards. He had never seen that expression on her face before. The fury.

The raw hatred… It terrified him to his core!

Sera slowly turned her gaze back to Aether, lowering herself beside him. Her eyes softened with worry. She reached out, gently brushing her fingers near the edge of his burned arm, trying not to touch the twisted skin directly.

Then she glanced toward Helena, who was frozen in place, her lips trembling, tears brimming. Sera’s voice turned serious again. “Have you forgotten our deal?” she asked.

Helena flinched as if she had been struck. “B-But… he’s wounded. I-I can’t just leave him like this,” she said with a trembling voice, struggling to keep her emotions in check.

Sera’s gaze turned into a frown for a brief moment. “I will take care of him,” she said gently but sternly. “You can leave now.”

Helena looked like she was about to break down. Her whole body shook as she fought the urge to cry. She dropped her gaze, biting her lips hard. “B-But Aethe—”

“Helena!!” Sera’s voice turned fierce.

Helena froze.

After a moment of silence, she gave a small nod. She wiped her eyes, still trembling, and stood up slowly. Her legs felt heavy, like they were being dragged through mud. She gave Aether one last glance, filled with longing and pain, before turning away and walking off.

Sera watched her quietly and let out a soft sigh. Then she murmured, “The people in the Empire must be in panic right now… afraid, confused, wondering what happened here. Calm them. Explain everything to them. Once you’ve done that… I’ll allow you to see him again.”

Helena blinked in surprise. Then she smiled through her tears. “Thank you!” she shouted and ran off, wiping her face quickly as she rushed to fulfil her duty.

Sera smiled gently to herself. “Idiot girl…” she whispered, then pulled out a small glowing orb and tossed it toward Helena. The girl caught it mid-run, glancing back with a questioning look.

“I recorded everything that happened. That orb will serve as proof—show it to the High Priests, and every fool who doubts Aether’s strength. Make them see what they ignored.”

“Yes, Archpriestess!!” Helena shouted back with even more energy, her steps faster now.

Sera turned and looked at the people around her. They stood at a distance, hesitant and unsure. Their eyes were filled with curiosity, fear, and awe. They clearly wanted to approach… to see the boy who had created a miracle, but none of them dared to come close.

Sera ignored them.

Carefully pulling out several rare herbs and sacred powders from her pouch. She mixed them with expert precision, then spread the concoction gently over his burned, blackened hand.

The smell was strong, earthy and bitter.

“It won’t heal you… but at least it’ll cool the pain. And it will keep infection away…” she whispered, her fingers moving with the utmost care.

She then wrapped his arm in a clean white bandage, layer by layer, wrapping him with all the protection she could offer.

Finally, she scooped him into her arms.

And then, without another word, she vanished from everyone’s sight, carrying him away like a mother protecting her child… like a goddess guarding her chosen one.

Everyone blinked in shock, stunned by the sudden disappearance.

And then—like the winds breaking through a dam—words began to erupt in every direction.

Meanwhile, Sera appeared before the grand entrance of the main temple. Her eyes, sharp and tense, locked onto the enormous carved door that towered before her.

A moment passed before the heavy doors slowly parted with a deep creak that echoed like a low moan across the empty hall.

She stepped inside.

Her footsteps echoed through the vast, sacred chamber, each one heavy with burden, her body tight with anxiety.

Her eyes didn’t wander. She walked straight toward the massive, sacred statue of Mother Root that stood in the centre of the room.

Sera gently knelt down, her movements filled with reverence, and slowly placed Aether on the ground before the statue.

He was still unconscious—limp, unmoving, pale.

Clapping her hands together, Sera bowed her head, and her voice came out in a trembling whisper.

“Please… Please guide me through this, Mother… Please help him…” she begged softly, the emotion clinging to each word. Her lips quivered, and her face trembled slightly as she tried to hold herself together. There was no one here to see her cry—but even then, she resisted.

And then—without warning—a voice echoed in her mind.

Gentle… Calm… Absolute.

“Leave.”

Sera’s eyes widened, and a surprised breath escaped her lips. But slowly, she smiled—a tired, relieved, bittersweet smile—and nodded obediently. She leaned forward one last time, placing her hand gently on Aether’s shoulder, her fingers brushing his cheek for a fleeting moment before she stood up.

Without a single word, she turned and walked away, her silhouette disappearing behind the closing doors, leaving the chamber in complete silence.

Now Aether lay alone before the Mother Root statue—bathed in the quiet glow of the divine.

And then, the globe held in one of the statue’s raised hands began to flicker faintly. A subtle, white spark shimmered within it, pulsing once… and then—

Sspppppp…

The spark drifted down, glowing like a falling star, weaving through the still air until it slowly descended and touched Aether’s forehead, his illusion… weak Aether’s illusion disappeared and,

!!!

Aether gasped.

His body jolted violently, and he sat up with a horrified expression, as if he had just broken free from a nightmare. His eyes were wide with shock, his skin damp with sweat. He looked like someone who had seen something unspeakable—something that refused to fade from memory.

“Ugh… cough…!” Aether coughed several times, his chest heaving. His vision was blurry, but he could slowly make out the familiar outlines around him—the sacred walls, the faint smell of incense, and the towering presence of the Mother Root statue.

He blinked. “How… how did I get here?” he muttered in confusion. The last thing he remembered was—

“Ah… fuck!!” Aether groaned, suddenly clutching his head. “Did I just… Did I actually fucking use those Ethereal Flames!?” The memory surged back into his mind like a crashing wave—how he had nearly annihilated the Apostle.

He wasn’t even sure how he had done it. All he remembered was hearing that voice—that voice claiming he was nothing. That he would never be able to wield the holy flames… and then something inside him snapped.

A rage… A fire…

A will to prove them wrong!

“Fuck… Iteration No.25…” he muttered darkly, turning his gaze to his right hand, now wrapped tightly in layers of white bandage. The moment he tried to move it, his heart sank.

He couldn’t feel anything.

Not a twitch. Not a flicker.

His hand hung like dead weight—twisted, limp, and broken, like a torn cloth barely held together by threads.

His expression turned grim.

‘Hey… Log? What happened?’ he asked internally. His left hand slowly reached toward the damaged arm, fingers trembling slightly as he gently touched the bandages.

!~Ding~!

[❌Warning: You have utilised the Sacred Flames of Ethereal without prior permission or qualification. A severe backlash has occurred. Normal healing is not possible.]

Aether’s heart skipped a beat. ‘T-Then what should I do?’ he asked with growing panic, looking back at the motionless limb. He couldn’t even sense its presence anymore—it was like it wasn’t a part of him.

[….]

‘Log? Answer me!’

[❗Notice: This backlash cannot be healed.]

“What… the fuck?” Aether muttered in disbelief. “So… So what, I’m just supposed to live like this? With one damn hand!?” His voice cracked. His breathing quickened.

All it took was one reckless second—one surge of emotion—and it had cost his hand.

‘Come on, Log… You must have something! What if I… what if I just cut the arm off and regrow it? We’ve healed worse, right?’ he asked, hope flickering in his eyes.

But then—

[No. This is not a physical injury alone. The backlash has affected not just your body… but your soul. Your spiritual connection to the Ethereal Flame has been damaged. Even if you cut and regrow the limb, it will return as a useless, dead hand.]

‘Then what the hell am I supposed to do…?’

[Only time will answer your question.]

Aether sat in silence, staring blankly at his bandaged hand. A long, drawn-out sigh escaped his lips.

‘Fuck it,’ he muttered internally, forcing himself to stand. The motion was slow and clumsy, with only one functioning arm. The moment his feet pressed against the ground, an agonising pain stabbed through his right side.

“Ah, fuck!” he groaned again, gritting his teeth.

He looked up at the statue before him, his expression twisted with bitter frustration. “Why the hell did she bring me here?” he muttered. “Was this Sera’s idea? Dumping me here, hoping this bitch would help me?” He stared at the statue with narrowed eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm and ridicule.

He shook his head, scoffing, and turned to leave.

But just as he took his first step—

“Pathetic.”

Aether froze.

A vein popped on his forehead, his jaw tightening.

He recognised that voice…. Oh, he knew it too well.