Chapter 2079 - 555: Vivian's Most Useful Episode 4

At the age of sixteen, he should have been doing something meaningful, yet he cluelessly ended up in the ratmen cave, and now he found himself on a Campbell stretcher.

Perhaps the citizens of Roland City would find a thousand reasons why he deserved his downfall; he didn't wish to argue, only to send regards to the mother of Your Majesty.

Perhaps his curse was so blasphemous that it lost Saint Sis's sympathy; the expressionless Priest merely glanced at him before leaving.

"No saving him."

He vaguely heard those words.

Indeed, a rotten life.

Hart wasn't surprised by this, already satisfied to have escaped the ratmen cave, accepting the inevitable if he couldn't survive.

It was said that dying at the hands of the ratmen not only meant your body would be crushed into mush but also that the remains would somehow merge with Ryan's Nobles.

That fate terrified him more than his soul naturally dispersing into the world.

He'd rather have no afterlife than be eternally tied to those ugly abominations.

Surrounding him were groans, like whispers of an endless nightmare, until a group of Knights in white robes entered the camp.

There were no prayers, no compassionate sighs. Hart vaguely heard only the faint sound of leather rubbing and the crisp clink of metal tools.

"Remove necrotic parts..."

"Prepare the blood bottle."

"Which one?"

"Try number 4."

Through the dim peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of sharp cold gleam; Hart struggled to escape but was held down by a powerful hand.

"Don't move."

The person warned him, with a grip so strong it didn't feel like a doctor's at all but more like the clamps from a blacksmith shop... In Hart's mind, that was the greatest strength he could imagine.

A silver knife cut into the decayed flesh on his leg bitten by rats.

Just as the pain was about to climb his spine, an icy glass vial was deftly shoved into his mouth.

"Drink it."

The red liquid poured down his throat, the unbelievable sweetness resembling a freshly squeezed... uh, tomato juice?

Baffled, Hart lost the luxury of thought, instinctively consuming the magic potion poured into his mouth before consciousness started to fade.

Unlike potions mixed by monks, the concoction brewed by these cold-faced Knights felt like a strong spirit, burning away pain swiftly as if it were a fire consuming everything.

Hart broke out in a cold sweat.

When the strong hand let go, he sprang up from the stretcher, suddenly realizing he felt as though he'd been pulled from a boiling cauldron, drenched in sticky sweat.

More astonishing was that his unrelenting fever had subsided!

The Knight who had cut away the rotting flesh didn't stop but instead, with the effect of the potion not yet worn off, placed a fingertip on the wound and softly recited a spell.

"..."

An itching sensation spread from the wound; the seeping blood coagulated at an incredible speed, weaving into threads that sealed the injury.

Finishing his work, the Knight stood up and looked at the Escort beside him.

"Next one."

Soon, they left Hart, going into the next tent.

Hart watched their backs in a daze until two Laine Camp soldiers came in with buckets, bringing porridge to the survivors in the tent.

Seeing Hart sit up, the leading soldier raised his eyebrows.

"You're awake?"

Hart nodded, his gaze fixed on the tent entrance, and after a moment, he softly asked.

"Who are they?"

A bowl of porridge was thrust into his hands.

Only then did he feel the hunger in his stomach, instinctively swallowing saliva before scarfing down the food.

Watching the ravenous young man, the soldier grinned.

"You mean those guys outside? They seem to be Colin's people."

"...Colin?"

"Saint Colin Hospital Knight Order, from the Imperial colony on Gana Continent. Word is, when they heard of our plight, they immediately and selflessly took the Teleportation Array to come over... Bless Saint Sis, what a benevolent bunch!"

Then suddenly a curious soldier poked Hart's arm.

"Hey kid, how did they heal you just now?"

Hart blankly glanced at his fellow countrymen, contemplated for a moment, and then spoke.

"I'm not really sure... Seemed no different from what the Priest did."

Actually, he didn't really think so; it was obvious they hadn't used Holy Light, but some other trick.

The Elves' Life Magic?

The Dwarves' Healing Rune?

Who knew?

Thinking of the old man who told him 'No saving him,' he suddenly found it didn't seem all that important.

Even if it were the Devil's witchcraft...

At least selling his soul to these gentlemen didn't seem too bad.

...

On the other side of the camp, Vivian was walking along a muddy path in her small boots, her nun robe white-edged on black remained spotless, swaying lightly with each step.

Though Miss Colin never sought attention, her presence still stirred excitement throughout the camp.

"Lady Vivian!"

"Lady Vivian is here!"

Previously lifeless refugees seemed to have glimpsed a true God.

Nobody knew who shouted first, but soon the whole camp echoed with cries, gratitude and fervor etched into every face.

"No need for formalities, everyone."

Vivian halted, face adorned with a holy and compassionate smile.