Chapter 410: The Holy Light

The chaotic battle raged through the village, now reduced to ruins.

The attackers—who not long ago had called themselves guardians of the land and its people, self-proclaimed bearers and spreaders of the Holy Light, warriors upholding tradition and order—were now nothing more than a band of starving, near-mad marauders.

Hunger weakens and kills, but before it claims its victims, it can drive them down a darker path: one of madness and brutality.

Leight had no idea how many enemies there were. All he sensed was that behind every shattered wall, every fence outside the village, even in the distant grass and earth mounds, enemies lurked. Wild, frenzied shouts echoed from all directions—so frenzied that the voices had lost nearly all trace of humanity.

He swung his molten-cutting sword, its blade glowing fiercely with surging magic. He wasn’t a skilled swordsman—his swordplay was barely better than a peasant wielding a pitchfork—but he was tall, strong, and powerful. Each swing was enough to drive the ravenous, crazed attackers back a good distance. Between swings, he caught clear glimpses of their grotesque faces—

Clad in filthy, tattered armor and robes, their faces smeared with dirt, some stained with dried blood. Their eyes were bloodshot, glowing red with a beastly light. They charged wildly toward the campfires, toward the villagers, even toward the Cecil soldiers who had recently routed them and left them terrified. Their eyes held no reason, no fear—only hunger and the flickering flames.

Countless attackers poured out of the darkness. The Cecil soldiers, covering the civilians’ retreat, fought back from behind makeshift cover. Blinding beams of scorching energy tore through the night, cutting deadly arcs of fire. But there were simply too many enemies.

One soldier hurled a crystal grenade with all his might. It exploded violently on the far side of the campfire, sending several attackers flying into the air. The deafening blast and brilliant flash briefly stalled the enemy’s advance. The devastation seemed to strike a chord of fear even in their madness—if only for a few seconds.

Then a voice shouted loudly: “They’re few in number! Don’t be afraid—they’re few!” “Kill! Kill!” “They have food! They have plenty of food!”

Hunger and frayed nerves had stripped these people of all reason. They charged recklessly at the makeshift line of Cecil soldiers. This chaotic, instinct-driven “tactic” was surprisingly effective: the soldiers were too few, and there was no “heavenly fire” bomb here to wipe out thousands in an instant. Under the relentless onslaught, Leight and his comrades were forced to fall back step by step.

A fully armored Cecil soldier was roughly equal to a low-level superhuman, but among the attackers in the night were more than one superhuman. Leight saw bright fireballs and charged swords flashing through the darkness. He swung his longsword hard, cutting aside a fireball hurtling toward him, then followed through to sever a sword thrust aimed at his side—but in doing so, he overexerted himself, and his molten-cutting sword slipped from his grasp.

He stumbled forward, a chilling wind brushing the back of his neck. He ducked instinctively and reached back to grab the attacker—only to grasp empty air, though he managed to force the enemy back two steps.

Leight spun around quickly and saw the attacker’s face—a knight clad in tempered steel armor, draped in a tattered white surcoat. Half of a shredded cloak hung loosely over the surcoat. In the knight’s hand was a longsword glowing faintly with a pale white light.

A Templar Knight of the Holy Light Church.

At the sight of that faint white glow on the blade, Leight’s thoughts faltered for a moment.

“Facing your own church brethren on the battlefield is not the same as a street brawl in the countryside… Are you ready to face them?”

The knight, sword in hand, hadn’t expected this towering man to be so tenacious even after losing his weapon. After a brief flicker of surprise, he recovered quickly and lunged forward, the holy light on his blade pulsing fiercely, radiating enough heat to sear flesh. “Die!”

The searing heat of the Holy Light snapped Leight back to reality. He tensed his muscles and twisted sharply, narrowly dodging a strike aimed at his chest. He stretched out his arm, grabbing the attacker’s wrist and wrenching hard, trying to wrest the sword away.

A radiant barrier of holy light flared up around the knight’s wrist, as solid as steel, knocking Leight’s hand away. The knight summoned a dazzling glow around himself and retreated at an incredible speed. Then, with a swing of his longsword, a shockwave of holy light burst forth from the blade’s tip.

The bright arc slammed into Leight’s faltering force field shield, scattering into scorching particles that burned his exposed skin. Using the shield’s last moments of protection, Leight charged forward like a tiger, tackling the knight to the ground.

The Templar struggled fiercely, roaring in anger. The holy light gathered on his body, strengthening him with every passing second. But Leight pinned the enemy’s chest, one hand pressing down on his neck, the other gripping the sword-wielding wrist. The burning holy light seared his palm, but he refused to let go.

“Why?!”

“I’ll kill you!” the knight bellowed, holy light erupting from his blade, flames scorching Leight’s shoulder. But Leight only gripped tighter, shattering the holy light barrier around the knight’s wrist, crushing the enemy’s hand. Amid the knight’s agonized screams, Leight landed a brutal punch to his face. “Why?! Why do you monsters, guilty of every sin in the sacred texts, still wield the Holy Light?!”

His second punch landed hard. Blood splattered as the last rune glow in the magic terminal on his armor flickered out. His entire body had been exposed too long to the intense holy light, and the protective magic gear finally gave out, overloaded and broken.

Just as Leight knocked the Templar unconscious, another figure in a white surcoat, wielding a holy light longsword, lunged at him from behind.

Leight felt the rush of air behind his neck, the sting of holy light burning his skin again. He had no time to turn—he dove sideways with all his might. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his attacker—the second Templar Knight.

The second knight gave Leight no chance to recover. Taking advantage of his off-balance, defenseless state, he swung his sword down again. But at that moment, a stone suddenly flew out from the nearby darkness.

The harmless stone struck the knight’s shoulder, causing no real damage but slowing his sword just enough. The blade slashed across Leight’s face, drawing a bloody gash, but Leight seized the moment to roll and get back on his feet.

He spotted who had thrown the stone—Emily, standing dazed near the cellar entrance, still frozen in the throwing pose.

The knight roared in fury and swung his sword again. A silent blade of holy light sliced through the darkness, piercing the young girl’s chest.

Emily collapsed before Leight’s eyes.

Anger, hatred, or something else—Leight didn’t know what surged through his mind, overwhelming his thoughts. It was the very thing he had always tried to suppress while following the path of the Holy Light. He restrained himself, controlled his emotions, practiced mercy—but now, all that control shattered.

Years of pent-up rage and confusion flipped a switch inside him.

For a moment, he forgot the Templar knight standing just feet away. His eyes fixed only on the fallen girl. He charged toward the cellar entrance, reaching Emily’s side.

She still had a faint breath, struggling to breathe. The holy light blade had seared her flesh, the charred wound cracking with each breath, blood pouring from the blackened gash, dragging her closer to death with every second. Leight knelt beside her, but seeing the wound, he knew it was too late.

Yet the girl forced her eyes open, looking up at the towering man in the darkness.

She seemed to smile faintly. Leight heard her whisper, barely audible: “Big guy… there really is a circle of light around you…”

The Templar knight approached from behind, sneering at the man who seemed to lose his mind over a little girl’s death. He raised his longsword high and swung down mercilessly.

Blade clashed with blade, scattering into dust.

The knight’s eyes widened in terror as he watched the tall “Cecil man” slowly rise. A shimmering, liquid-like radiance enveloped him—covering his armor, his skin, everything.

As if forged from light itself.

Leight opened his eyes. The Holy Light surged within them, flowing through the gruesome wound on his face. He raised his glowing, light-forged arm, grasped the knight’s neck, and lifted him slowly into the air, tightening his grip.

The knight struggled desperately, the burning holy light causing smoke to rise from his flesh. In the grip of death’s terror, he stared wide-eyed into Leight’s eyes. “Lord… curse you…”

“I—curse—it!!”

A pure, radiant light burst forth from the seams of the Crusader’s armor. In this unprecedented, crystal-clear brilliance, the flesh and bones of the Crusader instantly vaporized.

Only tattered armor and a shattered cloak lay scattered across the ground.

(End of chapter)