Chapter 78: Relic’s Awakening

As my mind blanked amid the crashing scene before me, Kritiya had already moved first.

But with her—with just her—what could she possibly do?

The girl fell silent, even her breaths turning shallow and restrained.

By the time I snapped back, these hands were already wrapped in warm fluid— blood seeping ceaseless from Nolan’s severed arm, carrying the heat of lingering life, dripping plip-plop to the ground.

Crimson liquid, warm with body heat, oozed drop by drop from the stump’s gash.

Kritiya extended both hands, trying to stem that ebbing life.

“It’s no use— he needs real treatment!”

Beyond the wholly vanished left arm, Nolan’s body bore only superficial flesh wounds.

I could nearly reconstruct the scene: shielded by reinforcement magic, he’d withstood blades— but that long-crippled left arm became the sole, fatal chink in his guard.

I realized sudden: Kritiya wasted effort.

Had emergency staunching come at the severing’s instant, hope lingered faint.

But by her arrival, blood loss mounted grave; I spied the scarlet trail seeping earth, dragged from front woods onward.

Without doubt, pursuers would track the blood straight!

I eyed Nolan’s ashen face and blue-tinged lips; by prior world’s common sense, such hemorrhage demanded mass transfusion for survival.

As for this realm’s archaic medicine— death’s sole path, barring miracle.

And fittingly, this world brimmed with “miracles.”

Black magic could save him……

Unwitting, months steeped in black arts had honed me far past that green novice.

A mere think summoned a dozen ways— perhaps unkind, but certain to prolong life, as Kritiya once did in Roen ruins.

Heart thudded heavy in chest.

But……

Why now, when free action eluded me?

What to do?

Linger thus, he’d die.

Once dead……

Then……

Boiling chaos of thoughts quenched sudden like ice-water douse, cooling instant.

Even me……

What could I do?

Those dark rites in black magic tomes— even for self, I’d never abide such form to “live.”

Let alone Nolan? The one least accepting such existence— now fallen to it.

Unlucky— blame his rotten luck.

Unlucky stumbling on Kritiya in bear’s den.

Unlucky traveling with us toward capital.

All road: ill fortune, thrice-four dead-escapes, naively deeming fortune constant— unknowing some unseen tick drained life’s last dregs.

Ever trying good, self-troubled yet aiding others— ne’er reaping due return.

And this misfortune’s root: all because of

“Wh-Where…… Is this?”

The boy’s frail voice sounded sudden by ear.

He seemed to muster last spark for those words.

I knew inward: no good omen.

Kritiya pressed the wound tight, cheek to his lips meanwhile.

That murmur-like voice drifted soft:

“Tiya…… You saved me again…… No clue how to thank you.

Pursuers……

Quick— go!”

“Wait!

Can’t leave!

Diya’s still in the cabin— quick, fetch her!

Wolves aplenty back hills……

To village— rouse everyone……”

“I……

Can’t move.

You go quick……

Tiya!”

Nolan’s glazed gaze turned.

I knew not how to reply; Kritiya too froze.

Her lips quivered faint; after hesitation, she murmured light:

“I’m right here.

Not going anywhere.”

“You’re here……”

Nolan craned neck, eyeing the gray-haired girl beside; then raised his lone right hand, clasping Kritiya’s wrist on his shoulder.

“You……

You fool!”

I’d thought that final life-flame might grant brief clarity— yet he sank to delirium again, gasping shout:

“Why won’t you go?!

Quick— go save them!

Don’t stay with me!”

Scarce spoken, some whence-born strength surged; he shoved Kritiya fierce.

The girl staggered back tumbling, the gripped crystal clinking roll to ground.

By Kritiya’s lifted gaze, Nolan had lapsed comatose once more.

“Such an unlucky child……”

Sardonic words pierced my soul.

Plain agreeing the verdict, yet like self-shield I retorted:

“Things reached this pass— what could I do?

Can’t expect some fairy-tale god to—”

“Who knows?”

Impatient inward.

Yet— off.

This voice chiming in sounded a mature woman.

Whence came it?

“No rush, child.”

This time, I heard true.

The voice issued from Kritiya’s mouth.

“Who are you?!”

Words blurted.

Then stunned realization: though still bodiless-control, throat’s vibration felt no mere mind-murmur— I’d spoken outright!

“Oh?

This……

You’re not the child— like me, an outsider……

No— you’re the child too……

Doesn’t add; complex, like a tainted soul……”

The voice puzzled.

My sidelong caught the ground-rolled crystal.

Could it……

Could you be the Saintess?

Sharp as you are……

A thousand years past, Radiant Church’s beauteous Saintess— now spoke in neighborly sister’s playful tone.

The crystal’s lingering spirit?

I nailed it, right?

I dazed a beat, then queried.

Crystal?

The voice via Kritiya’s lips carried subtle mirth, as if at some amusing term.

“That’s no crystal, child……

That’s a phalange of mine.”

So— what do you want?

This time, speaker neither I nor the bone-housed Saintess.

Voice quavered slight, yet bore unyielding firm— Kritiya herself.

She braced ground with hand, motion clear: this body’s reins still hers.

What a tangled mess.

I mused dark.

One body, three minds— three disparate souls cohabiting.

Unprecedented……

But perhaps chaos hid turning point?

After all, before us: legend’s Saintess.

Sudden recall: that Merun Abbey abbess once mentioned— saints’ holy light wielded force to warp fate’s course.

Can you save him?

As if peering my thoughts direct— Kritiya voiced again, my deepest wish.

Yes— the Saintess’s voice rose sudden.

Your fierce, boundless yearning to save him— that woke me.

This intent lets me rouse now.

I grasped the pivotal brink; stifled urge to interject.

Kritiya quieted moments, seeming to digest— then nodded grave:

How?

Child— first, retrieve my phalange.

Then, I’ll guide you.

Kritiya bent per word, careful scooping the ground-rolled, milk-white-glow crystal.

She palmed it, feeling the odd texture— neither stone nor wood; some ineffable.

An indescribable warmth flowed, as if from fingertips spreading.

Next, she turned to comatose Nolan, deep-breathing, stepping toward him.

Close your eyes, child.

The Saintess’s voice sounded, serene yet potent.

Feel the relic’s warmth in hand.

Pour your awareness, with your fierce wish to save that boy, into it.

Good……

Now— open eyes.

Place your hand gentle by his severed wound.

Fear not life’s leak— for healing’s core: not creation, but guide and rouse.

Guide life’s innate force; rouse its self-mend craving.

Kritiya obeyed; kneeling Nolan-side, she laid the glow-radiant phalange— with her palm— soft over the still-bleeding horror gash.

At first, Nolan’s form spasmed instinct at touch— but then, odd calm enshrouded him.

Hold thus.

Now— I’ll chant.

Via Kritiya’s lips, the Saintess intoned ancient verse.

See— the milk-white bone hovered abrupt, midst soft glow dissolving to myriad luminous motes.

Like drawn by unseen hand, they streamed to Nolan’s left shoulder’s jagged crater.

“Mm……”

Nolan groaned faint in stupor.

See— the white relic, as revivified, clung the stump’s face, emitting faint, dense “crick-crack”— swift building, sealing: first, crystalline arm-bone scaffold formed.

Then, countless finer-than-hair crimson vessels and silver nerves sprouted quiet along the new bone, creeping spread—

As black magic’s flesh-arts adept, I sensed this essence clearer than any.

This no twisted, pieced abomination via dark force— but purest antithesis to black rites’ pain-bound, coercive fusions.

Thump!

Heart lurched sans warning, pounding fierce.

At first, I dismissed— mere emotional flutter.

But as Nolan’s arm took shape in pristine holy light, newborn-tender sinew textures gleaming vivid— a rending agony exploded from lung-heart depths.

As if some live thing thrashed, rent inside my chest-cage, clawing to burst free.

The Evil God Seed!

Whether quaking terror at divine threat, or lusting devour at this pure vitality— under the unprecedented holy shroud, it woke full, unleashing savage stir.

This heart-linked torment masked not; instant shared by us.

Kritiya’s hand on Nolan’s shoulder clenched abrupt; body rigid sudden.

The Saintess’s ethereal chant— as if throttled unseen— hitched sharp, brief off-key; Nolan’s holy veil flickered wild, like candle in gale.

Ever since, the Seed lodged heart-deep— now, at this redemptive crux, it turned most perilous backstab.

This inward blade’s thrust……

Linger uncontrolled, the rampant dark not only thwarted Nolan’s regrow— but might maim Kritiya and Saintess’s spirits grave!

Yet the Saintess— via Kritiya’s eyes— merely blinked feather-light.

After that brief stagger, the ethereal chant resumed with fiercer stubborn.

Kritiya too gnashed teeth, holding guide-pose unmoving.

I grasped instant— they would not halt.

“Settle……

Down!”

No space for waver or pause— I mustered full will, along pact-guided spirit-link, probing toward the Evil God Seed.