Chapter 139: So Lance is This Kind of White Mage

The combat zone within the sanctuary was surrounded by solemn stone pillars carved with divine images. Even the raging sea of fire couldn’t touch them. A high-speed fight was erupting across the sanctuary, with the clash of weapons ringing out incessantly.

On the walls between the pillars, intricate stained glass cast blurred reflections, capturing the fleeting silhouettes of figures locked in head-on collisions and close-quarters skirmishes. Off to one side of the sanctuary, the priest was not only healing the trio engaging the Saintess of Destruction in melee combat, but had also erected a pale blue energy barrier nearby to deflect the long-range area-of-effect spells she unleashed.

Under this protection, the people in the rear had nowhere left to retreat. Behind them stood the towering wall beneath the sanctuary’s dome, adorned with a magnificent rose window.

"Hyperion, I’ll need you to keep an eye on the two unconscious members of the Krati Empire and offer me a bit of protection while you're at it." As he spoke, Lance turned to face Adelise in the distance, locking eyes with her as her gaze burned with resolute murderous intent.

From his side, Hyperion softly but confidently said, "Focus on the enemy. Leave the rest to me."

Lance nodded and stepped forward. In his hand, he casually held several enchanted cards, each glowing with a soft, lustrous purple light. This display was akin to showing off an arsenal and was clearly a provocation.

Any healer with a shred of common sense would never exhaust all of their healing spells at once, sending every single one into cooldown. Excessive healing would simply go to waste. Thus, to everyone watching, Lance’s message was clear: his healing spells were all of good quality and were more than enough to sustain a drawn-out battle against the Saintess.

A faint, enigmatic smile appeared on his lips as he gazed at the Saintess. His expression was a mix of three parts regret and seven parts pity, and it made him look as though he was actually waiting for her to break through the lines and reach him.

"What use is that pathetic magic power of yours?!" The Saintess’s expression twisted into a ferocious snarl.

Accompanied by a shrill shriek, the flaming longsword in her hand lashed out violently, its strikes hissing and roaring like a swarm of crimson vipers.

In a flash, the frenzied sword slammed into the ground, unleashing a torrent of flames that sent the battered executioner and paladin airborne once more before they violently crashed back down. Meanwhile, the male bodyguard, who had been waiting for a chance to ambush her, was forced to retreat and shield himself from the onslaught.

At that moment, the oppressive aura radiating from Adelise intensified. Her murderous intent made the entire sanctuary feel as though it had been plunged into a sea of fire in a scorched wasteland of annihilation.

The mere sight of Lance’s face and that signature smile of his sent a surge of rage boiling up within her. She knew she was struggling to maintain her composure, yet the primary cause wasn't that walking disaster of a Lawyer. Instead, it was the gray haired, red-clad demon standing behind him, who had been singing this entire time!

As long as that succubus kept singing, even the steadiest nerves would become frayed and irritable. Yet, just as she seized a brief opening that she created by unleashing a massive Tier 6 spell to repel her obstructors and surge forward, the priest’s crowd-control magic and the female bodyguard’s traps stalled her advance once more.

She managed to close the gap by only a few meters before the executioner and the paladin, who were forcing themselves to fight despite their injuries and pain, caught up to her again. Despite their efforts, the Saintess might well be successfully lured to the backline by Lance’s taunts before nightfall, leading to a desperate, all-out clash between the two sides.

In the distance, beside a towering sanctuary wall, still a dozen meters or so from the heart of the battlefield, were the priest and female bodyguard.

They shouted, "Sir, stop taunting! Hurry up and heal!"

As backline support classes, both of them could sense just how terrifying Lance was. They had never seen a healer who held the enemy’s attention so firmly before. Even the frontline tanks couldn't stop her!

Lance smiled, sensing his teammates' anxiety. "Don't worry, I'm starting my actual job now."

That was only natural. Teammates fighting alongside him for the first time almost always felt a touch of panic. As his voice faded, he focused intently on the fierce battle ahead and began scattering his healing cards one by one. At the same time, the Saintess in the distance began to glow with the faint magical aura that accompanied healing.

Lance’s actions left everyone present stunned for a moment. For one thing, that wasn't how healing magic was supposed to be used. Dumping it all at once was the sort of thing someone intentionally sabotaging the team would do.

Furthermore, when they realized the healing was being directed at the Saintess, they began to fear that Lance had betrayed them, defecting to the Church of Resurrection at the most critical moment! That would mean utter despair.

Even the Saintess found herself momentarily confused. Was it possible that Lance was actually on her side?

However, something didn't add up. He seemed to be putting on an act for everyone, or perhaps defecting, yet the magical energy he emitted while casting spells was glaringly faint. It turned out he hadn't been suppressing his mana all along; he was genuinely just that weak!

This kind of healing provided virtually no restorative effect. Pouring more magic into it was an exercise in futility. Just as everyone’s brains were momentarily short-circuiting over Lance’s actions, the Saintess suffered from a disastrous reaction while being bathed in healing spells. Instead of being healed, she instantly stiffened and began to convulse violently, as if she was enduring unspeakable agony.

The male bodyguard was the first to snap out of his shock and materialized like a tiger from the shadows, thrusting his dagger straight at the back of the Saintess's neck. Her combat instincts forced her to endure the pain as she jerked aside to dodge the strike and swung her flaming longsword, knocking her attacker flying.

Blood trickled down her neck, and her eyes quivered with a mix of shock and furious disbelief. Under normal circumstances, she would never have suffered even a scratch. In fact, she would have countered and killed her attacker instantly, but she was wracked by unbearable pain and failed to react in time.

The executioner and the paladin quickly realized what was happening. Energized by the shift in the tide of battle, they charged at her once more. They finally understood exactly what kind of white mage Lance was. He was purely about messing with people's heads, inflicting mental anguish, and tormenting his opponents.

Basically, that bastard was an absolute piece of sh*t! Unfortunately, they couldn't afford a drawn-out war of attrition against the Saintess. No amount of healing could save them from a slow, inevitable death. What they needed was exactly the kind of cursed specialist support Lance provided, someone who could accelerate the pace of battle and turn the tide.

As she parried the well-timed sneak attacks from the executioner and the paladin, the Saintess glared fiercely at Lance in the distance. Her eyes, wild and feral like a beast out of control, burned with murderous intent.

"Lance! Wilford!!!" A shrill, furious roar echoed through the sanctuary. At the same time, the Saintess entered a berserk state!