Chapter 42
The Saint’s Return
Like the barrier that had blocked the entrance to Mount Malfren, this one too was supposed to be weakened by the priests before the mages dismantled it.
But… something seemed wrong.
At the front of the barrier, the priests were in disarray, whispering among themselves and clearly confused.
Ralph, looking troubled, waved to Castian.
“Duke, you’d better come take a look at this.”
Castian and I walked toward the group of priests and mages gathered before the chapel door.
“What’s going on?”
Castian’s tone was calm but heavy.
The priests avoided his gaze, and Ralph answered on their behalf.
“It’s not a barrier made with dark magic.”
“…Not made by a dark mage?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It seems to be made with holy power.”
At that, both Castian and I stared in shock.
A barrier of holy power—inside the stronghold of dark mages?
Only priests could wield holy power. Whoever had erected this barrier had to be one.
How could that be?
As everyone stood confused, three high-ranking priests exchanged nervous glances before one hesitantly spoke up.
“Someone capable of creating a barrier of this magnitude would have to be either the High Priest… or—”
The priest trailed off, but everyone’s mind immediately conjured the same image—
The one kidnapped by dark mages just before the expedition began.
A person with divine power second only to the High Priest’s, capable of erecting an impenetrable barrier.
“The Saint?”
Castian’s low voice carried weight, and the priest who had spoken broke into a sweat.
“T-there must be some reason. There’s no way the Saint would side with dark mages!”
“We’ll find out once we get inside. Can you dispel it?”
“It’ll take time… but the three of us will do our best.”
The priests, faces solemn, approached the door, assisted by mages who began their own incantations.
Hours passed with no sign of progress. The situation inside the chapel remained unknown, and no one knew the Saint’s condition.
We had entered Malfren Castle early that morning, and now the sun was already sinking beyond the horizon.
Soon it would be dark, and still the barrier stood strong.
Watching Castian silently glare at the chapel door, I ventured,
“Can’t we just… call her out?”
He blinked. “Call her?”
“Well, if she’s the one who made the barrier, then she must be inside, right? Maybe if we call her name, she’ll come out?”
I made a knocking motion toward the door, earning no response from him—only a strange look.
Instead, Marcus, standing nearby, answered for him.
“The barrier blocks external sound. Even if you shout at the top of your lungs, nothing will reach the inside.”
“Ah. Right…”
Scratching my neck awkwardly, I nodded.
It was just a thought because the poor priests looked so exhausted… apparently, it was a dumb one.
I mean, if it were that easy to open, it wouldn’t be called a barrier, would it?
As I sighed and looked back toward the door, Castian suddenly spoke.
“No… if we strike the barrier directly, the caster might sense it.”
“Really?”
I brightened instantly. Castian grinned faintly, drawing his sword.
“Let’s see if it opens when we knock harder.”
Then he walked toward the door.
Wait—why is he drawing his sword to knock?
The moment I had that thought, his blade came crashing down.
A deafening boom erupted, like a thousand panes of glass shattering at once.
That sound definitely didn’t come from metal hitting wood.
Hey! I said knock, not demolish!
Everyone stared, wide-eyed, at Castian. One of the priests even hiccuped in fright.
Castian, unfazed, checked his sword and looked back at the still-intact door before gripping the hilt again.
Just as he prepared for another strike, the three high priests clung desperately to his legs.
“Your Grace! What are you doing!?”
“If it’s the Saint’s barrier, even the High Priest would struggle to break it. I’ll smash through.”
“But forcibly breaking it could harm the caster!”
“She’ll open it before it breaks.”
He said it so casually—and swung again.
The sound thundered once more, but this time, I wasn’t startled—Sir Ethan had covered my ears in advance.
“Thank you, Sir Ethan.”
He smiled proudly at my gratitude.
After two failed strikes, Castian coated his sword in aura. The blade glowed blue as he raised it again.
The priests panicked, banging on the door.
“Saint! Can you hear us? It’s me, Darmil! Please, Saint!”
“Release the barrier, my lady! Quickly!”
Their desperation was palpable—they needed her to open the door before Castian shattered it.
Then, suddenly, Darmil cried out in joy,
“It—it’s opening!”
At once, Castian grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back.
The once-sealed door creaked open, and Castian readied himself for whatever—or whoever—might emerge.
Even if the Saint came out as hoped, no one could guess her intentions after sealing herself inside a dark mages’ lair.
Through the opening, long strands of pale lavender hair appeared first.
“The Saint! You’re safe!”
Darmil, still held by Castian, struggled to run to her—but froze midway.
Something was off.
The Saint, Irine, clutched the doorframe for support, her body swaying weakly.
“Ugh…”
Her faint groan sent a chill through the air—it was the same eerie noise the dark mage had made before transforming into a Balrog.
Tension rippled through the group.
Castian shot a glance at Ethan, who immediately pulled me a good distance back.
From behind him, I peeked cautiously.
She’s not going to… turn into something weird too, right?
She’s the heroine of the original story! A monster ending would be way too cruel.
My heart pounded as we all watched. Then—Irine slowly lifted her hand toward us.
“Does anyone… have food?”
…Food?
The silence that followed was almost comical.
When no one replied, Irine’s knees buckled, and she slumped to the ground.
“I’m starving…”
The Saint—called the incarnation of God—was hungry.
Darmil wriggled free from Castian’s grip and rushed to her.
“Saint! Are you all right?”
“Darmil, I’m so hungry. I think it’s been two weeks since I ate.”
“Wh-what!? Someone bring food! Quickly!”
A knight hurried over with rations and a water flask.
As the priests gathered around in concern, Irine tore into a biscuit, devouring it in seconds.
She gulped down the water, wiped her mouth, and exhaled deeply.
“Ahh… finally, I feel alive again. I really thought I was going to starve to death.”
“Thank the Lord you are unharmed, my lady. It must be His divine protection,” Darmil said, eyes shining with tears.
Irine gave a dry laugh.
“Divine protection, sure—but no matter how much I prayed, He didn’t exactly send me any bread.”
She pushed herself up with a groan, and Castian stepped closer.
“What happened to the summoning ritual?”
“It’s been stopped. Or rather…” She pointed inside the chapel. “He stopped it.”
Everyone turned to look.
A gaunt, skeletal man staggered out from within.
The moment he appeared, tension spiked again.
But Irine, unbothered, handed him the water flask.
“Here, drink this. You’ll be fine now.”
He clutched the flask and drank greedily.
Castian frowned, eyes narrowing.
“And who is that?”
“His name’s Hamilton. He was the dark mage who led the Demon King’s descent ritual.”
The revelation struck like lightning.
The very mastermind of the world’s ruin stood before us—weak, trembling, pitiful.
Hamilton lowered his head, empty flask in hand.
At the word “dark mage,” the surrounding priests instantly summoned their holy power, and blue aura flared along Castian’s sword.
He raised it toward Hamilton’s neck—the gleaming blade and his icy eyes made it clear he was ready to strike.
Terrified, Hamilton froze—but Irine quickly stepped between them.
“Wait! Don’t. He’s harmless now. I’ve already purified him.”
Her lavender hair shimmered in the fading light, her sky-blue eyes calm and serene.
The Saint smiled faintly—
—and somehow, she looked more like the villain than the dark mage she’d just “saved.”
