Chapter 965 - 964: A Life Returned

The Saintess swayed.

Her hands slipped from the boy’s chest, and Sir Luke caught her before she could fall. One arm supported her back while his other hand steadied her shoulder.

"Saintess!"

"I’m all right."

"Are you certain?"

She nodded, drawing a slow breath.

"Only exhausted. My life isn’t in danger."

"I rarely see you this exhausted."

A weak chuckle escaped her.

"Well, bringing someone back without sacrificing another person or my own life is something I’m proud of." She glanced at the boy. "If exhaustion is all I have to endure for that, I don’t mind."

Luke remained silent.

The boy had sat up. His broken sword rested across his knees while he pulled his shirt aside and stared at his chest.

The hole was still there.

Its narrow path remained open through his chest and heart. Yet no blood escaped. He breathed normally, watching the wound as though the next breath might finally convince him it was real.

Luke’s lips parted.

"A miracle."

The Blessing of Miracle.

Of all the Blessings he had heard of, hers stood on a tier of its own. Calling it a healing Blessing could not explain what had just happened or the things the Saintess had done in the past.

It performed miracles.

Even after serving as her guard, he understood little of what that truly meant. But watching the dead boy breathe, he knew again why he had sworn his life to protecting her.

In this dark, cruel world, she was a light worth preserving.

"You have done something extraordinary, Saintess," he said. "Congratulations. You brought him back."

Her smile brightened.

"Through God’s power. Not mine."

She looked down at her trembling hands.

"If He hadn’t told me to resurrect him, I doubt I could have done it."

Her fingers slowly curled.

"I never once thought I could bring back the dead. My faith is still too weak. So am I."

Luke watched her.

"I need to grow stronger," she murmured. "And understand Him better."

"You obeyed even when you were afraid," Luke said gently. "Don’t dismiss that."

She considered his words, then eased away from his arm.

"I feel a little better now. I can stand on my own."

He helped her rise but kept close until her legs steadied.

The boy was still touching the edge of the hole.

She lowered herself beside him again.

"Are you all right?"

He looked up and nodded uncertainly.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No."

"Then... an illusion?"

She gave a soft chuckle and shook her head.

"Neither. You were dead. Now you’re alive."

He looked at his chest, then at her.

"How? Did you do this?"

"God brought you back."

"God?" His brows drew together. "Which God?"

"The one and only God," she answered with a smile. "The Supreme God."

He stared at her.

She pointed gently toward his chest.

"That hole is proof of His power. A reminder of what He has done for you, so you won’t forget that you were once dead and are now alive."

The boy pressed his lips together.

He could feel the opening beneath his fingertips. It should hurt. Breathing should hurt.

Neither did.

The woman spoke with such certainty, but he could barely understand being able to hear her.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Rowan."

His gaze moved past her.

Two bodies lay among the remains of a doorway.

"Rowan Grey."

The Saintess followed his eyes. A woman’s arm lay outstretched beneath the rubble. Beside her, a man remained pinned beneath a broken beam.

Her smile faded.

"Your parents?"

Rowan said nothing for a moment.

A few coins lay beside his father’s outstretched hand. He stared at them, remembering how hurriedly his father had fastened the pouch before they tried to leave.

Then his fists clenched.

"Yes."

"I’m so sorry, Rowan. No one should have to lose their family like this."

He looked back at her.

"Why are you apologising? You weren’t the demon who killed them."

His gaze returned to the doorway.

"They were trying to protect me. He killed them and kept fighting as though they weren’t even there."

His voice lowered.

"I want him dead."

The Saintess waited before speaking.

"Did you see him clearly? The demon who did this to the village and killed you?"

Rowan nodded.

"We were leaving. Father gave me his sword. He told me to stay between him and Mum."

His hand found the broken hilt upon his knees.

"Then they came down from the sky. The demon and a man with red hair. They crashed into the square."

He swallowed.

"Mum held me. Dad tried to cover us. When I woke up, the house was gone. Neither of them would answer."

Luke glanced toward the fallen doorway.

"The man was human?" the Saintess asked.

"Yes. He wore iron-grey armour. But he couldn’t stop the demon. He was bleeding, and the demon stood over him and kept hitting him."

"Can you describe the demon?"

Rowan answered immediately.

"He had six wings. Four pale horns. Long white hair."

Luke’s eyes narrowed.

"His skin was black. There were ivory stripes across his chest and shoulders. Black wraps covered his arms and hands, all the way over his fingers."

Rowan lifted a hand toward his own face.

"He had crimson eyes with broken black rings around them. And a black line here, down the middle of his forehead."

He touched the middle of his forehead

"What about his weapon? Did he use a weapon?" Luke asked.

"Yes. He used a long black sword. Its edge was red, and black flames burned along it."

There had been almost no hesitation.

The Saintess looked at the boy’s expression. He had remembered more than the shape of his parents’ killer. He had studied him, preserving each detail.

Luke recognised the hatred behind that attention.

But something else troubled him.

He could not place the creature Rowan described.

Four horns, six wings, black skin, ivory markings...

Nothing he had encountered, read, or knew of matched it.

The Saintess met his eyes.

He shook his head slightly.

Could a demon race they knew nothing about have joined the invasion?

"Do you remember anything else?" she asked.

"He had four companions. They came afterward."

"And the human?"

"He escaped."

Rowan frowned, recalling the head that had fallen near him.

"The demon swung at his neck. But when the head landed, it belonged to a woman with white hair and feathers near her face."

Luke became still.

"She took his place?"

"I think so. They looked alike. Twins, maybe. The red-haired man was still alive. He screamed for her."

The Saintess exchanged another troubled glance with Luke.

"Was there anything they said?"

Rowan nodded after thinking for a moment.

"The demon and his companions talked afterward. I heard them say he’d become a Daemon."

"A Daemon?"

"Yes."

A deep frown formed on her face.

"Sir Luke? Have you ever heard of Daemons?"

He shook his head.

"No."

Neither had she.

She looked at the little hole in Rowan’s chest and her expression became very solemn.

"They might be something even more evil than the demons we know."

"What makes you say that?"

"When I tried to bring him back, I was drawn somewhere else."

Her fingers tightened against her gown.

"There was a black sun. Valleys full of corpses, skeletons, and souls. They were running toward me, and black flames spread with them."

Luke remembered the lines crawling up her arms.

"The flames reached me. I couldn’t put them out. They weren’t only burning my body. It felt as though something inside me was coming apart."

Rowan stopped looking at his chest.

"I said a verse of the bible as a prayer and it protected me," she continued. "But all that came from what remained in his wound and it was a very small wound."

The Saintess could not help but wonder what would have happened to her if the wound any larger.

Would she have won?

Or would she have lost and died?

Luke’s expression darkened.

"I felt it. I thought those black lines could kill me if I touched them."

He looked toward the road leading out of Miresti.

"If this Daemon is still at the front, the situation may be far worse than we were told."

They had come prepared to reinforce a battlefield.

What the boy described suggested they might find something very different.

"We should leave to assist the Carpathian Front, Saintess."

She nodded and rose.

"Yes. We shouldn’t delay any longer."

Then she looked down at Rowan.

"He is coming with us."

Luke showed no surprise.

"Of course. I’ll make certain he is protected."

Rowan pointed at himself.

"Me?"

"Yes, Rowan. I want you to come with us."

He glanced toward the armoured men waiting nearby. Then his eyes returned to the ruined doorway where the corpses of his parents lay.

His grip tightened around the sword.

"I want to bury my parents first."

Luke followed his gaze, a slight furrow appearing between his brows.

The Saintess looked at the two bodies.

"We’ll come back when we’re finished at the battlefield," she said gently. "You can bury them then."

Rowan did not answer.

"I’ll leave two of our soldiers here. They’ll guard the village and make certain your parents aren’t disturbed."

He looked up at her.

"Two?"

She nodded.

"They won’t be left alone."

For a moment, he seemed unable to respond.

Then he climbed to his feet, holding the broken sword close, and bowed.

"Thank you."

The Saintess blinked and quickly reached toward his shoulder.

"You don’t need to bow. This is something we should do."

He straightened slowly.

"Still... thank you for not leaving them."

Her expression softened.

She glanced once more toward the doorway before turning to her guard.

"Sir Luke. Let’s leave now."