Chapter 77 - - 77 - A Light in the Darkness

Chapter 77: Chapter - 77 - A Light in the Darkness

Lucien and Celbeth had been given a room in the cathedral to stay, courtesy of Lady Arianwen.

"So what do you think is going on in the village?" Celbeth asked, her voice soft in the spacious chamber.

Lucien lay beside her, staring at the ceiling—pure white, like everything else in this room. He hated the color, found it sterile and oppressive, but here it was considered auspicious. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

"It’s not as simple as it appears," he replied, his golden eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Something is definitely wrong here."

Celbeth shifted onto her side, propping herself up on one elbow to study his profile. The torchlight cast dancing shadows across his sharp features, and she couldn’t help but smile at the troubled furrow between his brows.

"I don’t know about the place," she said, her tone turning teasing, "but I do know how you were looking at that girl. She sure is a beauty, even with those shabby clothes."

Lucien’s lips curved into a smirk. His hand rested on her waist, a casual, familiar touch.

Celbeth let out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering half-closed.

"Well, I enjoy this," Lucien murmured.

Celbeth’s laugh was breathless. "I can see that." She shifted closer, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "By the way, do you have any information regarding this high priestess?"

"Not really." Lucien’s hand stilled, his expression growing contemplative.

"Callista just told me that the books she read about the Divine Key originated from this cathedral. I think we have no choice but to wait."

"That would be terribly boring," Celbeth pouted, though her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Which is why," Lucien said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face, "we will go to the village and see exactly what’s going on there."

Celbeth arched an eyebrow. "I was shocked when you said you wanted to help because of God’s will and all that. I can tell you’re doing this because you’re bored—and maybe because you wanted to make a good impression on Archbishop Arianwen."

Lucien’s hand tightened on her waist, pulling her closer

"Well," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "if you’re getting bored, you can always come with me."

"Oh, I’ll come with you," Celbeth breathed, her voice thick with desire and amusement. "I want to see some action."

In the village, tension hung like a shroud over every home. The plague had been merciless, snatching away the young and the old alike. No one knew why this affliction had descended upon them, only that it showed no signs of stopping.

Xandra stood beside the village chief, whose weathered face was drawn with exhaustion and illness. His cough was wet, his breathing labored, but his eyes held the stubborn fire of a man who refused to surrender.

"Village chief" Xandra said, her voice carrying the weight of hope, "perhaps we need not worry anymore. A noble came today. He said he’ll do what it takes to save the people."

"You seriously believe that noble bastard?" Verek’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. "I’m telling you, Xandra, they never think about anyone but themselves."

Xandra met his gaze steadily. "That’s the only hope we have. No matter how much we beg, we can never get help from the cathedral. If he can be a ray of hope in this darkness, I don’t care who he is—as long as he saves the village."

Verek’s face contorted with frustration. Without warning, he seized Xandra’s wrist and pulled her away from the gathering, dragging her toward her small home. The villagers watched them go, exchanging knowing glances. In a humble village like this, such moments were viewed simply: two lovers arguing, passion and worry mingling in equal measure.

Xandra’s house was modest—two floors, a single window on the upper level, and a roof covered in fresh green grass. It was the same window she answered every morning, the same where a torchlight flickered each night, a beacon of warmth in the darkness.

Once inside, Verek released her wrist and began pacing. The jealousy in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Xandra, why do you believe in that noble so much?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "Is it because he was handsome?"

Xandra blinked, taken aback. She had always known Verek cared for her, but this accusation struck a nerve she hadn’t expected.

"What are you saying, Verek?" Her voice remained calm, though a flicker of hurt crossed her face. "I just want our village to be saved."

"Sometimes I feel like I don’t matter to you," Verek said, the words spilling out like a confession he couldn’t hold back.

Xandra’s expression softened. "What are you saying, Verek? Of course you matter to me. Why would you say that?"

Verek grabbed her hands, his grip desperate. "Xandra, what I’m about to say might sound harsh—even bad—but can’t we just leave the village? I’m afraid... I’m afraid the disease might catch up to you while you’re trying to heal them."

Xandra pulled her hands free, stepping back. Her eyes widened, not with anger but with something far worse: disappointment.

"Are you out of your mind?" Her voice was sharp now, cutting through his defenses. "These people saved us when we were orphans. They gave us a place to call home. And you’re telling me to abandon them?"

Verek’s face crumpled. "I’m sorry. I was just worried about you... I should have said that. Please, forget what I just said. I’m truly sorry."

Xandra’s shoulders relaxed, but the distance between them remained. She looked at him—this man who had been her closest companion for years—and felt a strange heaviness settle in her chest.

"Don’t worry," she said softly. "I’m a Realm Master. We have stronger bodies." A pause. "You’re the only person I can share my burden with, Verek. I hope you understand."

Before he could respond, the creak of the door drew their attention. A small boy, barely old enough to reach the handle, burst in.

"Big Sister Xandra!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement. "A man has come! Yellow hair and black clothes—he looks like a noble!"

Xandra’s worried expression melted into a radiant smile. Verek saw it—the joy that he hadn’t been able to summon in her—and felt a bitter pang of jealousy twist in his gut.

They reached the gathering in the village square. It didn’t take even a second for Xandra to spot Lucien. He was like gold in a coal mine, so starkly different from the impoverished villagers that the contrast was almost painful. His noble bearing, his impeccable attire, the easy confidence in his posture—he belonged to a world so far removed from theirs that it might as well have been another realm entirely.

Xandra broke into a run, her heart pounding. She stopped before him, having to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. He was so tall, so imposing, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I’m sorry, Lord Lucien," Xandra said, slightly breathless. "I was discussing something with Verek."

"No problem." His voice was smooth, warm. "I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Lucien Vale, the youngest son of the Vale family."

He bowed, the gesture elegant and practiced, and Xandra felt her cheeks flush.

"I’m Xandra," she managed. "The priestess of this small church. And this is Verek."

"Is he your fiancé?" Lucien asked, his gaze flickering with genuine curiosity.

"N-No!" Xandra’s blush deepened. "We’re just friends."

"Oh, forgive my assumptions." Lucien smiled, and the warmth of it seemed to light up his entire face.

"N-No, it’s fine, my lord."

"Let’s not waste any time, then." His smile shifted to something more serious, more focused. "Show me the people who are affected. Most importantly, the children."

Xandra nodded, gesturing for him to follow. The villagers parted like water before a ship, their eyes fixed on the noble with a mixture of hope and skepticism.

They reached a large building—not a house, but a makeshift infirmary where the afflicted children had been quarantined. The smell hit them before they even opened the door: a cloying, sickly sweetness mixed with the acrid tang of sweat and fear.

Lucien paused only a moment before pushing the door open and stepping inside without hesitation.

The room was a nightmare. Nearly thirty children lay on thin pallets, their small bodies wracked with fever. Some slept fitfully, their brows glistening with sweat. Others lay awake, their eyes glassy with pain, too weak even to cry.

Xandra watched as Lucien moved among them, his expression unreadable. He touched each child’s forehead, his fingers light against their clammy skin.

Demonic astral energy, Lucien thought, his golden eyes narrowing. But how? There’s a cathedral just a short distance away. How is this possible?

He moved from child to child, his inspection methodical. The result was always the same. Every single one of them bore the taint of dark astral energy.

Interesting... His mind raced with possibilities, none of them pleasant.

Xandra stood at the doorway, wringing her hands. She could only watch as Lucien checked their pulses, her heart aching for the children she’d failed to save.

Then Lucien did something she’d never seen before. A green sigil appeared in the air before him—complex, glowing, pulsing with radiant power. He raised his hand, and the sigil expanded, covering every child in the room.

"Purification," he murmured.

The light washed over them like a gentle wave, and Xandra felt her breath catch. A green sigil. Not just a small prayer, not a simple blessing, but a full manifestation of divine power. Lucien was floating, hovering just above the ground, his golden hair fanning out around him as if caught in an invisible wind.

He looked like an angel descended from the heavens.

The children’s faces transformed. The tension in their tiny bodies eased. Their skin, once sallow and clammy, regained its color. One by one, they opened their eyes—clear, aware, free of pain.

A collective sob of relief rose from the parents who had gathered outside. They surged forward, clutching their children, weeping with joy.

Lucien drifted back to the ground, his expression troubled rather than triumphant. He slipped out of the building, his mind still churning with questions.

Xandra followed him, her heart pounding with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

"L-Lord Lucien," she stammered, her voice thick with emotion. "You saved them... finally. After all this time..."

Her eyes shimmered with tears, and for a moment, she looked at him as if he were a god.

"Xandra," Lucien said, his tone serious. "Do you know if there is a dungeon nearby?"

"A dungeon?" She blinked, confusion replacing her gratitude. "No, my lord. Did something happen?"

"I cured them," Lucien explained, "but the chances are they’ll fall ill again unless I remove the source of their sickness."

"Source?"

"They were affected by dark astral energy." Lucien’s gaze was piercing. "Mana leakage of this nature only occurs if there is a dungeon nearby."

Xandra shook her head helplessly. "I had no idea about anything like this."

"You’re a Realm Master," Lucien observed. "But I take it you don’t cultivate?"

"No," she admitted, shame coloring her cheeks. "I never had the time. I’ve been so busy with the village and serving its people that I could hardly focus on my training. And no one ever taught me proper cultivation."

"If you had cultivated well enough," Lucien said, his voice gentle but firm, "you could have seen the source of their diseases. You could have given them the same purification I just performed."

Xandra’s face went pale. "Wh-what? That means... I could have saved them? I failed because of my own weakness?"

Lucien’s hand settled on her shoulder, a comforting weight. "Don’t blame yourself. You did what you could. But remember—if you want to protect something, you need to be strong. Very strong."

Well, he thought, his lips curving into a subtle smile, I planted the seed. Now let’s see how it grows. Saving a few children can change a person’s mind. Hah... that was easy.

"For now," he said aloud, "let’s locate where the dark astral energy is flowing."

Lucien closed his eyes and activated the Lost Atlas, his consciousness expanding outward like ripples in a still pond as he scanned every dungeon in the vicinity. Nothing. Not a single trace of demonic energy, no spatial anomalies, no dimensional rifts. His eyes snapped open, confusion warring with unease.

How? How is that possible? There’s no dungeon here, but I’m certain—the description was clear. Dark mana, astral energy, a demonic dungeon... Could it be...

It failed to detect... how?