Chapter 581 - 581 - The Awakened Saintess
Chapter 581 - The Awakened Saintess
The saintess opened her eyes and immediately curled her body like a wary cat.
However, she didn't lash out or have a violent reaction.
While her demeanor exuded caution, her calm and composed gaze revealed her true nature.
"Where is this, and who are you? And who's that giant over there?"
A sharp and observant child, Enkrid thought as he answered her questions one by one.
The child didn't dwell on things she couldn't understand but clarified her understanding with follow-up questions.
When Enkrid nodded in affirmation, the next words from the child caught him off guard.
"Can we part ways here? I still have something I need to do."
It wasn't a plea to run away immediately.
The girl seemed to grasp the situation perfectly.
She understood that the Church wouldn't stop chasing her if she were alone.
Enkrid, who had learned that the child was a Highlander—a person of the mountains—knew that even she wouldn't escape the Church's reach easily.
The only exception might be if she could return to her domain in the mountains and hold out.
The Church might abandon its pursuit, or it could escalate to burning the mountains to capture her.
The future was unpredictable, but for now, Enkrid's side was undoubtedly the safest place.
And yet, she wanted to part ways?
"What is it you need to do?"
Enkrid asked out of genuine curiosity, and the girl, Seiki, answered without hesitation.
Her posture had relaxed a bit, and she now sat calmly.
"Someone is in trouble because I escaped. Also..."
She hesitated, as though debating whether to continue.
"And?"
Enkrid prompted gently.
"I think there are others still imprisoned there."
Seiki confessed her thoughts entirely.
"You mean you want to return to the place where you were held captive?"
"Yes. I didn't know anything at the time, but now I understand the layout and situation inside. I don't know why you saved me, but I can't just ignore this. From the beginning, my plan was to go back once I regained my strength."
There was no need to ask why.
The answer was obvious—to save others.
Her reasoning mirrored Enkrid's own when he had saved her.
"That's not right," Seiki added.
Her tone carried an unshakable conviction that caught Enkrid's attention.
Shinar, who had been observing quietly, looked at Enkrid with a meaningful gaze.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Enkrid asked.
"I'm admiring my fiancé's face," Shinar replied sarcastically.
The truth was simpler: the child's words echoed sentiments Shinar herself often expressed.
Enkrid's jaw moved slightly as he considered her words.
She was right—it wasn't right to ignore such a situation.
If Audin were here, he'd be nodding fervently in agreement, moved to tears by the girl's conviction.
"My grandfather once said, whether you live alone or with others, walk the path you believe is right," Seiki added with unwavering resolve.
Her sincerity struck a chord with Enkrid.
They walked the same path, and he had no reason to refuse her.
"You remember the location, right?"
"Yes."
"Then let's go together."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
Seiki immediately agreed, aware of the reality of the situation.
Watching the exchange, Shinar commented, "You seem weak to women and children."
Enkrid glanced at her and replied, "I'm definitely not weak to older women."
"...You little..."
Shinar rarely glared, and Enkrid laughed at her rare display of irritation.
The late autumn rain had cooled the morning air.
Enkrid spoke to the coachman.
"Turn the carriage around."
"Pardon?"
"We're heading back to the city."
The coachman obeyed without question.
As they traveled, Enkrid reflected.
While the saintess had been saved, her unfinished business remained.
Could it be done?
He believed so.
"We'll sneak in to rescue them," Seiki explained as the monastery came into view.
She shared part of her plan, which was both reasonable and well-structured.
It accounted for drawing attention, freeing the captives, and escaping afterward.
Having been unconscious during her escape, she hadn't seen Enkrid's skills.
Shinar, who had grown fond of the girl, clarified kindly,
"Sneak in? That won't be necessary."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
Seiki had seen the monks' daily routines.
They were martial artists who spent every spare moment training.
With over twenty of them, they were formidable.
Though she hadn't counted them directly, she had deduced their numbers from traces and provisions.
She was sharp and practical, not one to charge blindly into impossible odds.
Her original plan had included avoiding the monks entirely.
But now, her careful planning seemed unnecessary.
The monastery was near Naurilia's western border.
After dismissing the carriage midway, the group had traveled on foot.
Enkrid and Shinar, as well as Seiki, who was adept at walking, made steady progress despite being slower than a carriage.
Watching Seiki walk, run, and move, Enkrid understood how she had managed to evade capture for so long.
"Quite the talent," he thought.
Her origin as a Highlander wasn't for nothing.
Arriving at the monastery's entrance, two stern-faced monks glared at them.
Seiki, uncertain of what was happening, observed a deep trust between Enkrid and Shinar.
Trusting them, she decided to follow their lead.
Enkrid strode confidently to the entrance.
The heavy wooden door, entwined with iron vines, and the gray stone walls covered in ivy stretched out on either side.
From afar, it could have been mistaken for a peaceful place where wine was brewed.
Many monasteries made their living through wine, bread, soap, or jam.
"Who are you? This is the land of a sacred order, and no one enters without an invitation," barked one of the monks.
His thick arms suggested he relied more on fists than words.
"Guests," Enkrid replied, his pace unbroken.
He approached the guarded entrance.
"Is he just going to walk in?" Seiki whispered incredulously.
As the monks reached out to stop him, Seiki heard only faint swishing sounds.
Without so much as a groan, the monks' eyes rolled back, and they collapsed forward.
Enkrid theatrically bent his left knee, extending his arms to catch their falling bodies.
The monks lay unconscious, their heads slumped to the side.
"What just happened?" Seiki asked, bewildered.
Shinar, unusually talkative and somewhat giddy, explained.
"He struck their throats and jaws simultaneously."
To be precise, Enkrid had used the web of his hand to silence them with a blow to their throats, then twisted his arm into a fist to strike their jaws.
His speed was remarkable, but his control was even more impressive.
Neither monk's jaw was broken; they were merely knocked out.
From an ordinary perspective, their feats could seem unreal.
What Enkrid displayed now was one such skill.
"Let's go," Enkrid said.
Storming a monastery, even a corrupt one, was tantamount to declaring war on the order.
Others might shake their heads at such recklessness.
Was it worth making enemies of the order just to save a few people?
The answer seemed absurd.
But Enkrid cared little for such concerns.
Audin's words still echoed in his mind from their last confrontation.
"You'll be hunted for the rest of your life."
So be it.
If his actions led to pursuit, he would accept it.
If it aligned with his beliefs and what he deemed right, he would continue forward.
That had always been his way.
"You're lucky to have survived this long," Shinar mused, guessing at Enkrid's past.
Seiki, though silent, observed and acted.
Unremarkable though she seemed, she did her part, deducing where those who had helped her might be imprisoned and guiding the group toward them.
"Who are you?"
"What do you want?"
More monks emerged but proved no match.
"We're here for a visit," Enkrid quipped, dispatching them effortlessly.
Though his body wasn't in peak condition, it hardly mattered.
He wielded a makeshift club in place of his broken sword.
One monk, however, wielded a uniquely long sword, two spans longer than an average blade, and his strike was both swift and precise.
Enkrid met the attack with his shortsword, drawing it in a single upward slash.
Holding the club in his right hand, he swung it back while his left hand deftly drew his blade.
With both hands crossing mid-motion, a blinding arc of light sliced through the air.
Clang!
The sword forged by Eitri sliced cleanly through the monk's blade.
Strength, skill, and the quality of the weapon had combined seamlessly.
That was the end of it.
The monk, pale-faced, admitted defeat. "I yield."
With that, the others bowed their heads, and soon, they found those Seiki sought to rescue.
"Why did you do it, brother?"
The question, simple and rhetorical, required no explanation.
"Do you really need an answer?"
The saintess had fled, and he had hidden her.
Wasn't that answer enough?
His retort implied as much.
"Did you want to be the sole virtuous one? Are you satisfied now?"
The man, who once seemed like his brother, chuckled bitterly.
Should he be condemned?
Even with the ability, such things cannot be done.
For he deemed himself unworthy.
There was a punishment.
Hot wax was dripped into his eyes and ears.
Because though he had eyes, he could not truly see, and though he had ears, he did not truly hear.
The monk, subjected to punishment, had all his hair shaved clean, leaving not a single strand.
The martial monk overseeing the punishment mocked him.
"All you had to do was stay still. Tsk."
Hot wax fell into his eyes and seeped into his ears.
"Grrhhh..."
Instead of screaming, he rolled on the ground like a beast.
The pain was excruciating.
The agony consumed his body.
Yet his spirit was not torn apart.
To whom should I attribute guilt?
The monk did not believe he could blame the one who inflicted this punishment upon him.
For that person, too, was merely following orders.
Then, who bore the guilt?
The monk decided that guilt should not be assigned.
What mattered was simply moving forward.
Thus, he prayed to be allowed to move forward.
Before assigning blame, show us the hope of salvation.
A belief in change was essential.
What if a messenger of the gods descended?
That would be ideal.
If that messenger, in righteous anger, destroyed everyone, perhaps there would be those who learned and were enlightened by it.
The monk's gaze shifted to one side.
He saw a woman crouched by the moldy stone wall.
She was a middle-aged priestess known for her fine needlework since her youth.
But now, it would be impossible for her to handle a needle and thread again.
By tomorrow, her hands would be severed.
Because of the hot wax dripped into her eyes, one of her eyes had gone blind.
The world now appeared only halfway to her.
In a dream, someone asked,
"Do you regret it?"
No.
I do not.
Even if the entire order reviled and spat on me, it was wrong to leave that child as she was.
The monk had freed Saeki and, while at it, had attempted to rescue another child confined in the underground cells, though it was an impossible task.
O God, send forth a messenger.
Not to punish sin, but to teach those impoverished in spirit.
"Approach, and he will die!"
Amid his half-asleep prayers, someone grabbed his neck.
He felt someone's breath on the back of his neck.
The one behind him yanked him close, holding a short dagger to his throat.
The voice was familiar.
It was the loyal servant of Shilma, the one who had overseen his punishment.
Huff, huff.
He could feel the labored breaths, mixed with fear and unease.
Through his blurry vision, the monk saw a figure beyond the prison bars.
A shadow entered first, followed by the light of a torch illuminating the figure from behind, making his face indistinguishable.
The light surrounded the figure like a halo.
"If you kill me, you will make the order your enemy!"
The trembling voice of the one breathing fearfully exclaimed.
The lips of the figure surrounded by the halo parted.
"That doesn't matter."
With those words, the light trailing from his back extended forward.
To the monk's eyes, it appeared that way.
As the light, which he saw as a halo, filtered into his damaged eyes, part of it brushed his face.
From behind him, warm liquid, imbued with heat, spilled onto his back.
The warmth spread through his body, which had lain cold on the prison floor.
Between the warmth and the light, the monk asked with blurred vision,
"Has the messenger of God arrived?"
The figure promptly answered,
"No. My name is Enkrid. I come from Border Guard. What I have done today was my own will, and if you wish to hold me accountable, I will not avoid it."
Even with just one eye, the monk could see the figure before him clearly.
To his eyes, the man was like a rock that stood unshaken, whether battered by waves or besieged by storms.
He was not a messenger of God.
Rather, he was a hero who declared he would not flee from the consequences of his actions.
To the monk, at least, he was indeed a hero.
A hero sent by God in place of a messenger.

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