The female mage Alyssa looked in surprise at the monk whose demeanor had changed so drastically; his expression was filled with hope, as if he had seen a savior. While Alyssa was still dazed, Kaze leaned close to her and whispered:
“Rein in your usual temper, Alyssa. His Excellency Dorias is a genuine saint.”
“So what? There are plenty of useless guys parading around with the saint title.” After saying this, Alyssa strode toward the old man’s direction:
“But now we can only trust the person you found; we can’t waste any time…”
“Useless?” Kaze hadn’t finished introducing this saint named “Dorias” when Alyssa walked away toward where the saint stood.
“Such a hothead.” Kaze couldn’t help but hold his forehead. “Whatever, she’ll see his skills soon enough.”
…
“Saint… Your Excellency Dorias, is that how I should address you?”
Alyssa walked up to the saint, completely different from the monk’s near-devout respect, greeting him like an ordinary mercenary.
“Just call me by name.” Dorias didn’t mind her tone; he nodded slightly. From the moment he approached the camp, his gaze hadn’t shifted from this sea of black-gold fire.
“Mr. Kaze has already informed me of the situation. Leave this to me from here; you take the non-combatants and leave first, lady. I’ll do my utmost to save everyone.”
Alyssa watched as Dorias effortlessly lifted that gigantic sword, which seemed even larger than his entire body. Even though the saint’s efficient style was the type she appreciated, Alyssa didn’t think he could handle the current disaster with just that hunk of iron in his hand.
“Hey—you…”
Alyssa wanted to remind Dorias of the special nature of the black-gold flames, but before she could speak, golden radiant particles gradually gathered in the saint’s giant sword. An indescribable peculiar power assaulted Alyssa’s senses; it was the first time she had felt such dense magic from a person.
“Quite the big shot, saint.”
She murmured lingeringly as she watched Dorias walk straight toward the sea of fire.
…
Even if reduced to ashes, Dorias would never forget the filthy scent on witches.
“Witch’s trickery.”
The saint swung his weapon, the giant sword enveloped in holy light cleaving into that impenetrable fire wall. Countless souls’ shrieks exploded in everyone’s eardrums. Dorias looked gravely at the twisted black smoke coalescing into anguished human faces in the golden light, only to be scorched to ashes by the divine power in an instant.
On the way to the camp, Kaze had already explained the camp’s situation. Initially, Dorias thought the reason the flames couldn’t be extinguished was that someone was continuously supplying magic to the fire from behind; he just needed to sever the source, and those zombies controlled by the flames would naturally be freed.
Now it seemed this overflowing sea of black-gold fire was far more dangerous than Dorias had imagined—
“This is insane…”
Dorias’s face paled, his long robe fluttering in the heat waves, the light bursting from his sword edge growing ever more blinding. “This flame is actually burning with human souls as fuel.”
The saint held his breath and focused, enveloped in holy light as he ventured alone through the sea of fire. The power of dawn guided him forward; he endured the scorching pain of the inferno and found the source of the black-gold flames.
“There’s still a living aura?” Dorias frowned, but he had no time to ponder. Even if only one person survived in this sea of fire, he would do everything to save her life.
Dorias charged forward fearlessly; his second strike directly split the entire fire curtain. Amid the splashing gold-black flowing fire, two figures suddenly appeared: the silver-haired, golden-eyed girl, Ileil. She was bound by chains formed of flames, half-kneeling on the ground.
And the instigator of this fire, that unnamed black-haired witch, was also exposed in Dorias’s line of sight.
“The radiance of dawn will purify your sins, witch.”
Ileil looked up at this old saint who had charged straight into the sea of fire. He called the black-haired woman beside her a witch, his eyes unmasking hostility toward witches. But when the old man’s hostile gaze fell on her, it softened somewhat:
“Hold on, child. You’ll be saved soon.”
He seemed not to have recognized Ileil’s witch identity.
The black-haired witch also noticed Dorias’s presence. But she showed no sign of panic, merely sighing shallowly with regret:
“You’re quick on your feet, Mr. Saint.”
Dorias ignored the black-haired witch’s words; in his eyes—witches were merely monsters in human skin. They learned human language only to bewitch hearts…
“Oh dear… A rare outing can only end so hastily like this.”
The black-haired witch had no intention of dodging; she knew—with this frail avatar, she couldn’t resist a saint like Dorias. Her lips curved slightly upward, and just as the giant sword was about to fall on her, she conveyed farewell words to Ileil through means the saint couldn’t detect:
—Farewell, my kin.
Please consider carefully the deal I proposed to you.
…
The saint’s giant sword mercilessly cleaved the black-haired witch’s form to pieces; the flame chains binding Ileil shattered accordingly, and the girl staggered to her knees.
With the black-haired witch’s demise, this eerie sea of black-gold fire gradually extinguished in the rain.
The people standing on the slope, upon seeing the fire put out, all secretly breathed a sigh of relief, a sense of survival after calamity lingering in their hearts.
Except…
“In the three hours I was away from the camp, what exactly happened here?”
Soaked through by the rain, wearing an ill-fitting formal suit, Gro arrived at the scene and, looking at the camp’s ruins, let out a despairing wail. The man walked to Kaze with a complicated expression, placing his hands on his shoulders:
“Tell me… Kaze, how did the camp catch fire on a rainy day?”
“Uh… this is a long story, Gro.” Kaze turned his face away and recounted the events to Gro in detail.
…
When Gro left the duke’s mansion, someone had already informed him of the camp’s general situation. Although he had mentally prepared himself on the way back, when Gro truly saw the burned camp, his mood still collapsed.
The camp in Renn Town that Gro had meticulously repaired over more than half a year—
Comfortable and quiet houses…
Fully functional tavern…
Exquisitely decorated library…
Advancedly equipped alchemy room…
All reduced to ashes by this fire,
…
“Called a saint to save the day? Tricky… now I owe him a big favor.”
Compared to the few mercenaries who couldn’t escape the fire, Gro cared more about the loss of the camp’s destruction. He was calculating what to do next when Alyssa hurriedly came over again, her anxious words interrupting his thoughts:
“Hey, Gro! Hurry and gather your people; find Ileil for me!”
“Ileil? What happened to that kid?” Gro raised an eyebrow.
Alyssa explained Ileil’s situation to him.
Originally, Gro was still relatively calm, at most feeling a bit down about the camp’s destruction. But after hearing Alyssa’s words, he couldn’t maintain his composed demeanor anymore.
“That kid was trapped inside too? Damn it.”
Gro’s brain raced; Alyssa’s words had thrown him off. He gritted his teeth and immediately decided what to do next.
“Don’t just stand there, you fucking freeloaders! Anyone who can move, get moving—first, go into the camp and carry out anyone still alive!”
Gro’s roar echoed across the entire hillside. The mercenaries immersed in the aftermath of the disaster moved briskly upon hearing Gro’s voice. Gro took a deep breath and, after issuing orders, followed them into the camp’s ruins.
He intended to do so. But when Gro saw the saint’s figure appear amid the rubble, he involuntarily stopped his actions—
The Ileil Gro was searching for was safe and sound, carried on the saint’s back.
And that saint was Gro’s old acquaintance—Dorias.
“Long time no see… Black Edge.”
Dorias had already noticed Gro’s presence. He stared at Gro’s deep blue pupils, a chill flashing in his gaze.
When Gro heard the word “saint” from Kaze, the bad conclusion was already obvious. It was just that the confirmation came a bit too quickly.
—But thinking positively, at least… Ileil was safe and sound, right?
Gro recognized the saint’s appearance; time had aged Dorias a lot, especially his hairline, which was much higher than in memory.
“Hope you’ve been well, Your Excellency the Saint.”