Chapter 351: A Return Visit

Standing before a group of people who regarded him with suspicion, wariness, even outright hatred, Leight fell into a rare silence.

He was no great preacher—indeed, not even a particularly good priest. He had known that for a long time.

He was just an orphan picked out from a pile of firewood, surviving only thanks to the kindness of the old abbot. For twenty years before awakening his gift of the Holy Light, he was nothing more than a menial servant in the monastery. Unlike those clergy born into the orthodox tradition, who had received thorough theological training, or the fortunate few quick to learn the political games of the higher clergy, Leight had none of that.

When the old abbot died, Leight wept bitterly—and in that grief, he felt the call of the Holy Light. This divine gift of spiritual talent spared him from a life as a monastery slave after his protector’s death. From that moment, he shed his rough servant’s garb and donned the robes of a priest. Yet in the eyes of others, he remained the same crude, lowly servant. He underwent the full formal education expected of a priest and rigorously, almost harshly, upheld every virtue recorded in the sacred texts—because the old abbot had once said that these virtues were what separated humans from beasts.

But after learning and adopting all these principles, Leight found himself even more alienated from his fellow clergy. The Holy Light teachings he cherished so deeply seemed to matter little to most priests of this age.

He knew he was an outlier among priests. He knew the strict codes he stubbornly followed were seen as outdated by his peers. He knew about the slanders, the scheming, the exclusion—but he never spoke of it. Because he still believed one thing: the Holy Light was meant to protect others, the God of Light watched over the world, and even if those who wielded the Light no longer valued the old virtues, they still stood on the side of justice.

So he accepted the church’s rejection calmly—that was the price of being “out of step” with the times. He accepted the mission to preach in the wild southern lands without support, because spreading the gospel of the Holy Light was what he most wished to do. But he could not calmly face the people before him now.

Even in his most difficult and failed preaching efforts, he had only encountered the public’s indifference. But here, on their faces, he saw genuine hatred and hostility.

“I am Leight Aviken, priest of the Cecil domain. You may call me Leight,” the tall man said as he stepped forward and slowly sat down before them. “I am the only Holy Light priest in this land—so you can consider me the head of the Holy Light Church here. As you can see, I carry no weapons, bear no hostility. I have left the central church lands behind. Now, I only want to know what really happened on the Holy Spirit Plains.”

“You burned down our church!” a young woman shouted, but a man beside her quickly pulled her back.

There were over twenty people here, and Leight was alone. Yet the group was tense—because they knew this priest was a supernatural being, and such power was beyond ordinary men. Besides, Leight’s bulging muscles suggested that even without supernatural gifts, he would be a formidable opponent.

More importantly: he was the only cleric in the domain. Did that mean he was sent by the lord to “investigate” them?

They hadn’t expected that after barely escaping the Holy Spirit Plains, they would still have to face scrutiny from a Holy Light priest in this new refuge.

Leight saw their anxiety and softened his tone. “Rest assured, I represent only myself—I do not represent the lord, and at this moment, not even the church. Regarding the burning of the church, I heard rumors on my way here. The Holy Light priests on the Holy Spirit Plains… why would they burn down a church of another faith?”

The people exchanged glances, then someone finally spoke. “Because they found evidence of heretical rituals inside… and the head priest of that church did indeed lose control to dark magic and became a monster afterward…”

“Then why were you exiled? I can tell you’re just ordinary people…”

“They forced us to change our faith,” the woman who had spoken earlier covered her face. “They lit a bonfire with the Holy Light and made us choose: convert to the Holy Light and pay half our wealth as atonement, and we were innocent. If we refused, we had to walk through the fire to prove our purity. They said the fire lit by the Holy Light would only burn the guilty. If you died in the flames, you were a servant of the heretics…”

Another person added, “Some were pushed into the fire, some converted, and the rest of us… escaped early.”

Once the topic was opened, the long-suffering group seemed to reach a breaking point. They no longer held back, each telling of the hardships they had endured—

“As soon as we escaped, they said we were all bewitched by evil gods, beyond redemption…”

“They burned down our houses in the city, took our belongings, and hunted us with the lord’s men…”

“We spent all our money bribing soldiers and merchants, fleeing south from the Holy Spirit Plains—because the north was closer to the royal capital, where there were more Holy Light churches…”

“We first took a carriage, then walked to Pister Fort, and finally were packed like fish into ship holds, hiding among barrels during searches. We barely had room to lie down—only a few could sleep at a time, taking turns…”

“Three died on the ship and were thrown into the river…”

Leight listened quietly to each story. Beneath his priestly robes, his fists clenched again and again.

He could hardly believe his former church brethren could do such things… Had they all gone mad? Had the last teachings of the Holy Light vanished from their minds?

Who judged heresy? Who thought to use Holy Light to light fires to test evil? What was this atonement money?

When everyone had finished, a long silence fell. Finally, Leight broke it. “There is a small church north of the mage district in the city—that is my church.

“No, I will not force you to convert. I only want to tell you that if any of you fall ill, get injured, or if your children want sweets, you can come find me… I will always be there.”

After saying this, the sturdy, warrior-like priest stood up and quickly left as if fleeing, leaving the people in the shacks staring at one another in stunned silence.

Leight hurried through the streets back to the church. From his pocket, he pulled out a letter from the regional church headquarters and read every word carefully. Now he finally understood what the pope’s call to all levels of the church to crack down on heresy truly meant.

After finishing the letter, he was silent for a long time. Then he raised his other hand and gently rubbed his fingers together.

A pure white flame flickered at his fingertips—a somewhat dim Holy Light, but still enough to ignite paper. Within seconds, the letter turned to ash, drifting away on the breeze.

Outside the church, a tall woman in a pale purple gauze dress paused briefly. In the chill of early spring, her thin clothing stood out sharply, yet the passersby seemed not to notice her at all, simply walking past.

Her face was veiled in the same pale purple, revealing only a pair of curious eyes. Those eyes were fixed on the church doors—now closed—but she seemed to see right through them, quietly chuckling, “Heh… humans are such complicated creatures…”

She withdrew her gaze and surveyed the growing city before her.

“Come to think of it… how did this place develop so fast? When did all these little buildings go up? When did all these people appear…” she muttered, hands on hips. “Last time I was here, it was all just shacks!”

Before she could finish, a sharp, annoyingly familiar voice called from behind, “Wow! It’s you again!”

The woman spun around to see a short, squat figure—half-elf, half something else—standing behind her, rudely pointing a half-eaten frost candy stick at her.

The irritating half-breed shouted, “And you’re wearing the same clothes and veil as last time—are you that poor?”

Melita Pernia, senior agent of the Mithril Treasury and top-tier service professional for high-end clients, wanted nothing more than to kick this pest away. But she forced a polite smile and said, “I’m here to visit Duke Gawain Cecil. Please lead the way.”

“Oh,” Amber quickly stuffed the half-eaten candy into his mouth, crunching and swallowing, then held out his hand. “Six copper coins.”

Melita raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it three last time?”

“Prices went up. I got promoted, so it’s double now,” Amber said confidently. “You better decide quickly—might go up again later…”

Half an hour later, Gawain was studying mechanical blueprints in his study when a shout from the door interrupted him. “Hey! Gawain! Someone’s here for you!”

He looked up sharply, surprised to see Amber. “How did you get in… hmm? My little pony, miss?”

“Long time no see, Your Grace—and please, pronounce my name correctly,” Melita said with a graceful bow and a gentle smile. “I’ve brought the goods you ordered.”

(End of chapter)