Chapter 962 - 961: Not A Single Village (Magic Castle Bonus - )

[A/N: This bonus Chapter is thanks to Honestreader2092. Thank you so much. Means a lot to me.]

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Hooves hammered the mountain road.

A puddle burst beneath the leading horse, scattering muddy water across the stones. More hooves followed before the ripples could settle.

Eighteen riders swept around the bend.

They climbed the narrow road at a gallop, passing between a steep rock face and a slope scattered with dark pines. Loose stones skittered beneath their mounts, but no rider broke formation.

When the road narrowed, they drew into pairs. When it widened, they spread enough to watch both sides without leaving gaps between them.

White armour covered the sixteen men riding behind the two leaders. Gold edged their breastplates, shoulders, and helmets. A cross rested over each man’s chest, with a smaller one worked into the brow of his helmet.

Mud stained their boots and lower armour. None looked down to examine it.

Their horses wore matching protection.

White plates guarded their heads and chests, while overlapping sections covered their flanks. Golden crosses shone against the breast armour whenever they passed beneath an opening in the clouds.

They were larger than ordinary horses, with deep chests and powerful legs. A single ivory horn rose from each forehead through an opening in the armour.

Their hooves found purchase on wet stone with remarkable certainty. They cleared fallen branches without hesitation and landed running.

At their head rode a broad, heavily built man.

His armour had been made to fit shoulders wider than those of the men behind him. A thick neck rose above the collar, supporting a stern face with a square jaw and deep lines beside his mouth.

He wore no helmet.

Short white hair stirred in the wind, and his grey eyes moved between the road, the surrounding ridges, and the woman riding beside him.

This man’s name was Sir Luke, and he was a S-rank Demon Slayer at Level 375.

He was the Saintess’s personal guard, and at that moment, the expression on her face concerned him more than the difficult road.

She wore neither armour nor a helmet.

A long white gown covered her, its skirt gathered clear of the stirrups. Fine golden embroidery followed the cuffs and collar, while a cross pendant rested against her chest.

Pale-gold hair streamed from a loose braid down her back. Several strands had escaped to frame a face with clear blue eyes, delicate features, and a beauty that would have seemed serene if not for the tension around her mouth.

Her gaze remained fixed on the distance.

Every bend hid the way ahead. Every rise seemed to take too long to climb.

She urged her horse forward.

Luke brought his mount a little closer.

"Saintess. Please try to remain calm. Everything will be fine."

She shook her head.

"You don’t understand, Sir Luke."

"Then tell me."

Her fingers tightened around the reins.

"I feel as though I’m already too late."

His expression grew more solemn.

"Too late for what?"

"I don’t know."

The admission troubled her. There was no face she could attach to the feeling, no event she could name.

Only the urgency.

"It’s as though something very important to my life is slipping away. And if I don’t hurry, I won’t even know what I’ve missed."

Luke studied her for a moment.

"Did God tell you this?"

"No."

She shook her head again.

"He hasn’t told me anything about this feeling. He only told me to help every village we passed on our way to the battlefield."

The cross against her chest rose and fell with the horse’s stride.

"He said I mustn’t ignore a single one, no matter its state or condition."

Luke remained quiet.

"We stopped so many times." Her grip tightened until the reins pressed deep into her fingers. "If we hadn’t spent so long in those villages, we would have arrived already."

Her teeth clenched.

"All that time, and now I feel as though..."

"Saintess."

His voice was firm enough to stop her, but not harsh.

"Don’t make yourself feel guilty."

She looked toward him.

"You helped people who would have died without you. Some of them were too weak to speak when we arrived. They were thanking you when we left."

She remembered hands reaching for her sleeves.

An exhausted woman who had tried to kneel before she could stop her.

People watching them ride away because they could finally do so without fearing they would die before nightfall.

"They won’t forget what you did," Luke said. "You shouldn’t forget it either."

Her lips parted, then closed.

"I don’t regret helping them."

"I know."

His certainty eased something in her expression.

"But don’t let this fear shake your faith," he continued. "God has never been wrong. He has never failed us. We must keep our faith in Him, even when we don’t yet understand."

The Saintess lowered her gaze briefly to the pendant.

Her unease remained. However, the guilt tangled around it began to loosen.

"Thank you, Sir Luke."

She drew a steadier breath.

"I feel a little better."

"It is my duty, Saintess. I’m glad to hear it."

Luke faced forward again.

The road was beginning to descend. Beyond the next shoulder of rock, the lower valley opened toward the region where the rift had appeared.

He measured the distance against their pace.

"Fifteen more minutes to the rift," he said. "Perhaps less, if the road ahead is clear."

His expression suddenly changed.

A gap between the slopes had revealed a cluster of buildings below.

Or what remained of them.

"Saintess."

His voice had dropped.

She glanced at him, baffled by the sudden change.

Then she followed his gaze.

Smoke rose from the village.

Several roofs had collapsed. A wall lay across the road in a heap of broken stone, and dark marks spread over houses that still stood.

But it was the shapes between the buildings that held her attention.

Spikes.

The ground had risen into long, hard points through the village paths and open spaces.

Bodies hung upon them.

One spike had entered a man’s chest where his heart should have been. His feet dangled above the ground, a dropped weapon lying beneath them.

Another had pierced a woman’s head.

Farther along the road, more bodies remained fixed at unnatural angles. Some were held through their chests. Others hung from spikes that had driven through their skulls.

The wind moved their clothes.

Nothing else moved.

The Saintess’s face became still.

"I see it."

Her voice no longer trembled with anxiety.

"Demons."

The word came out cold. Her jaw tightened as she stared at the bodies, hatred darkening her eyes.

Luke’s expression hardened.

Behind them, the riders had seen it too. Hands shifted nearer weapons, but no one broke formation or called out.

The horses raced down the remaining slope.

A few minutes later, the squad reached the village.

Here, the smell of smoke was mixed with blood. Broken doors lay in the road. A torn curtain stirred through the empty frame of a window.

The spikes were worse at this distance.

They had not been driven into the soil. Their bases were part of it, the ground itself raised and hardened around the people it had killed.

The Saintess guided her horse around a fallen beam.

"Sir Luke. We should stop here."

He looked toward her.

"Are you certain?"

Her eyes remained on the houses.

"What about the feeling you described?" he asked carefully. "I cannot sense anyone alive."

She pulled lightly on the reins.

Beyond the village, the road continued toward the battlefield.

They were so close now.

A part of her urged her onward. Whatever she feared missing was there, somewhere beyond these buildings. She felt it with an insistence that made the thought of another delay almost painful.

Luke had sensed no life.

There might be nothing here for her to do.

Then she remembered the instruction from her God.

Not a single village.

No matter its state or condition.

The Saintess looked at a half-collapsed house beside the road. Darkness filled the gap beneath its fallen roof.

She could not see what lay inside.

"We have to stop."

Luke waited.

"God told me not to pass a single village without helping. I won’t assume there is no one left before we’ve checked."

Her hands remained tight around the reins.

"There may still be a survivor."

Luke inclined his head.

"As you command, Saintess."

He raised one gauntleted hand.

The signal passed through the squad. Reins tightened, horses slowed, and the riders came to a halt behind them without a single mount crowding another.

The Saintess freed her foot from the stirrup and gathered the skirt of her gown.

Then she swung down from her horse, her boots touching the wet ground.