Chapter 250: The Blonde Solderin

It was a straightforward question, but for most believers in this world, it wasn’t really a question at all. Leight nodded without hesitation, as if it were obvious. “Of course. Steadfast faith is the foundation for anyone in the clergy.”

“I can tell you practice the path of the Holy Light even more rigorously than most senior priests,” Pittman smiled. “These days, it’s rare to see clergy so scrupulously devoted to the classics like you.”

“The ‘Holy Law Reform’ of Ansu 503 changed a lot,” Leight began, speaking with surprising ease for a battle-hardened frontline cleric. “It led many clergy to relax their self-discipline. That reform made casting divine magic and performing sacred rituals easier, allowing many lower-ranking priests who previously had no chance to be promoted. Objectively, it greatly expanded the ranks of the clergy, inspiring other churches and sparking growth across various sects.” He paused, then added, “More clergy is a good thing, but it’s also true that fewer people now heed the warnings about the heart and spirit in the Holy Light’s teachings. Still, I believe the devout remain the majority. The Holy Light ultimately guides people toward goodness.”

“The Holy Law Reform, huh…” Pittman said slowly. “Pope Ditas analyzed countless divine spells and rituals, identifying their ‘key points.’ He found that by properly following these points, one could invoke miracles from the gods, greatly lowering the threshold for casting divine magic. Meanwhile, bishops of the time discovered shortcuts to strengthen faith through self-examination, self-questioning, and self-affirmation. These discoveries lowered the bar for becoming mid- to high-ranking clergy. The Holy Light Church, which first implemented the reform, used this opportunity to become the most powerful religion in the world—a power that endures to this day.”

Leight looked at Pittman with some surprise. “I didn’t expect you to know so much about this. I thought druids wouldn’t be interested in Holy Light doctrine.”

“It’s just religious history, not really Holy Light knowledge,” Pittman shook his head. “I can tell you’re a traditionalist, following the classical path of the Holy Light. You hold yourself to the oldest standards. What do you think of those clergy who take shortcuts?”

Leight hesitated, then chuckled. “They have their path, I have mine. The Holy Light watches over them and me alike. Since the Light shines fairly on everyone, no path is truly right or wrong. Naturally, I’m not in a position to judge theirs.”

“Is that so?” Pittman shook his head. “I’m just curious—if the god of the Holy Light knew some relied on shortcuts to gain power, how would he feel? Those undisciplined clergy can perform rituals and cast spells according to the post-reform doctrines and still receive the Light’s power. Yet they might drink, brawl, gamble, extort exorbitant penances from commoners, or sell poor-quality holy water brewed while hungover, taking the last straw from struggling families. The Light’s favor never wanes for them. Don’t you find that strange?”

If a mainstream Holy Light priest had heard this, they’d likely be furious. But Leight was no typical cleric. His reflections on the Light always came before anything else. After a long pause, he finally looked up. “I can’t answer that.”

Pittman blinked, staring at the cleric. “I thought you’d try to come up with some theory to convince me. Do you admit my doubts about the Light are valid?”

“I don’t accept your doubts, but I truly can’t answer your question,” Leight replied calmly. “The path of the Holy Light teaches me to be honest with my heart. If I don’t know, I don’t know. But I believe those disgraceful acts you mentioned are not the Light’s true intent. Those corrupt clergy exist—I clashed with many of them in the central region—but their evil comes from their own weak hearts. They cheat and take shortcuts for personal gain, not because the Light or its god uses them to seek profit. What interest would a god have in mortals?”

Pittman lifted a cup of clear water, eyes half-lidded as he looked at Leight. “For example… faith?”

“If it were truly about winning mortal faith, the god of the Holy Light would never allow such wickedness,” Leight smiled, sensing the contradiction in Pittman’s words. “Justice and mercy are what draw people in, just as people naturally yearn for light.”

Pittman stared quietly at the confident cleric, muttering under his breath, “…But sometimes fear and violence can wield the same power.”

…

Dark Mountains, eastern extension.

A highly trained unit moved along the winding mountain paths. Clad in finely crafted light armor and armed with weapons suited for mountain warfare, they moved with order and discipline, navigating the harsh terrain of the Dark Mountains as if on flat ground. Every sign pointed to a well-drilled, elite force.

Yet none bore any insignia to reveal their identity. Even their weapons were deliberately nondescript—swords, knives, bows, and crossbows common among seasoned mercenaries. To an outsider, they might easily be mistaken for desperate mercenaries.

This unit, along with several others, had been operating in the Dark Mountains for two days. Since crossing the border between Ansu and Typhon, these infiltrators from the Typhon Empire had been pushing deeper into Ansu territory.

Their mission was to use the mountain trails to bypass the steel defenses set by Duke Loren on Ansu’s eastern border, scout the southeastern defenses, and relay intelligence. Afterward, they were to find a way to hide and link up with other infiltrating units, forming a “dark nail” embedded deep in enemy flesh—conducting sabotage and waiting for the right moment. When war broke out, their damage would be severe.

There were multiple teams in the Dark Mountains, but this was the strongest. The commander was Solderin, a high-level elven ranger. He leapt onto a prominent rock, effortlessly balancing atop it as he surveyed the vast plains and forests at the mountain’s northern foothills.

At this distance, humans were invisible to the naked eye. Yet from the hazy treetops and drifting mists, he could discern nearly every wisp of smoke and every startled bird. From this, he estimated the number and size of human settlements within sight.

After a moment’s observation, the high elf ranger jumped down and gave a concise order: “This area is safe. Rest for thirty minutes.”

The Typhon soldiers immediately found cover, taking the chance to stretch, drink, and eat. Though elite, no army is made up entirely of supernaturals like Solderin. The Typhon Empire’s strongest legions still rely on ninety percent ordinary humans. This small team of a dozen included one high-level elven ranger, three low-level knights, and a mage—a remarkable ratio of gifted individuals. Even so, the lesser supernaturals needed rest.

As the soldiers recovered, they quietly discussed their journey through the Dark Mountains. Contrary to rumors of a lifeless death zone, the terrain wasn’t as terrifying as legends suggested. They had encountered some mutated monsters warped by magic, but no hopelessly powerful foes. The steep slopes and poisonous plants posed greater threats.

Everyone knew they were skirting the edge of the Gondor Wasteland, but as long as they avoided the southern foothills and the Black Forest, the wasteland’s pressure didn’t weigh heavily on them.

One knight pulled out map-making tools, marking key forks and trail directions on a rough sketch. Beside him, a comrade opened a small metal cylinder with a tiny hole. From inside emerged a jet-black “insect” that buzzed softly before shooting upward like lightning, vanishing from sight.

This insect was actually a magical construct—an experimental creation infused with faint magical beast blood, granting it incredible speed and trainability. In dispersed operations like this, trained messenger insects were invaluable for confirming the status and location of scattered squads.

Solderin glanced toward the insect’s flight path, then closed his eyes to rest against the rock. His androgynous face was hidden beneath a curtain of golden hair, which might lead an uninformed observer to mistake him for a fierce female warrior. But none of the nearby Typhon soldiers underestimated this slender elf ranger—his reputation was legendary.

“The Blonde Solderin.” That was his widely known moniker in Typhon’s mercenary circles, obviously referring to his golden hair. But only those familiar with the Silver Elves understood the true meaning behind the name and the immense power it implied.

The Silver Elves were an ancient race living in the southern continent. Closest in blood to the original “Primordial Elves,” these forest dwellers differed from humans in many ways. Besides their unique neural structures and corresponding elven magic, Silver Elves had a distinctive trait: their hair color changed with their power level. At rest, they had golden hair, but as they unleashed their inner strength, elemental forces dyed their hair silver-white. When a Silver Elf reached seventy percent of their power, their hair turned completely silver, and their combat ability surged—until the power faded.

That’s where the name “Silver Elf” came from.

Yet no one had ever seen the Blonde Solderin reach seventy percent power. He always faced his enemies with calm detachment. Even in the greatest challenges, his golden hair never changed.

Thus, he earned this unique title.

(End of chapter)