Cycle of Destiny

Chapter 15 The Descent of Holy Light

The white-robed archbishop gently pulled on the reins, and his snow-white steed obediently came to a stop. His deep gaze swept over the wounded and wrecked soldiers scattered across the ground, finally settling on the severely injured Duke of Langton, who was being supported by Harry.

There was no need to ask—he knew that what these ruins craved most at that moment was the blessing of the Goddess of Light.

He loosened the reins, and the sacred white horse stood quietly as if it possessed a spirit. He himself, holding the ivory scepter, gently squeezed the horse's belly, and as if his entire body had lost its weight, he slowly rose from the saddle and steadily ascended into the air.

He hovered several meters above the ground, opening his arms to the wounded. A clear and rhythmic chant then arose, unlike the urgent and mysterious chanting of the Duke of Langton. It was more like a solemn hymn echoing in a magnificent church, each syllable pure and powerful, carrying a strange, comforting rhythm, as if it carried a tangible weight that could directly cleanse the weariness and pain in one's soul.

As he chanted, the jewel at the top of the scepter burst forth with unprecedented brilliance. The light was like a constantly flowing stream of warm water, or a gentle rain of holy light, showering down upon the Duke of Langton, Lady Catherine, Harry, and every wounded person present.

This is precisely the intermediate-level holy spell of the Church of Light—Holy Light Illuminates All.

Bathed in this divine light, Miss Catherine, not far from Harry, quickly regained a healthy glow on her pale face. She coughed lightly a few times, spitting out a mouthful of ash-tinged blood.

This light, like sacred spring rain, was not limited to Miss Catherine alone, but was evenly sprinkled on every wounded person in the harbor.

Further away, the changes in the struggling and groaning wounded were even more pronounced. The broken bones made a faint "click" sound, and then returned to their original positions; the torn muscle tissue wove and healed itself like living threads; even the faces that were pale and gray from massive blood loss gradually turned into a faint blush, as if their vitality had been fully replenished.

Everyone touched by this light felt their vitality being rapidly replenished, and their intense pain transformed into physical peace.

This magnificent spectacle lasted for about half a minute. As the archbishop in the air slowly lowered his scepter, the light gradually dimmed and dissipated. However, the healing effect remained.

A strange silence fell over the harbor, no longer from oppression, but from the tranquility that came after the pain had subsided. Low groans were replaced by soothing sighs, tense bodies relaxed, and for the first time, the faces of those supporting each other showed the relief of someone who had survived a disaster. An atmosphere of rebirth and gratitude filled the air.

But unlike others—

Just as the archbishop ascended into the air, despite being severely injured, Harry still exhausted his remaining magic power to build a defensive magic shield around himself.

That posture, rather than being a blessing, seemed more like a desperate attempt to fend off an enemy's attack.

When the jewel at the top of the scepter burst forth with dazzling light, he felt an irresistible warm current pour down upon him.

As expected, his low-level magical shield ultimately failed to stop the arrival of the holy light.

Harry clearly felt a vibrant life force flowing through his skin as it touched the holy light. He looked down in surprise at his right hand—the several cuts from the rubble when he fell were visibly shrinking and healing, leaving only a few pale pink marks of new flesh.

Not only his external injuries, but also the exhaustion accumulated on the brink of life and death seemed to be gently brushed away by a tender hand. At the same time, he smelled a fresh scent, like grass after rain, unsure whether it came from the sacred light or was just an illusion caused by his body being refreshed.

Although his wounds had healed, Harry clenched his fists, frowned, bit his lower lip, and his expression was contorted, clearly in great pain.

The others couldn't understand the incantation the archbishop was chanting, but Harry could. He said, "God says: If you believe in me, worship me, and ask me, you will receive my blessings; the torment will be dispelled; the broken will be rebuilt."

Harry kept his eyes on the archbishop in the air until he saw him fall, then Harry removed his magic shield and turned his gaze to Duke Langton.

The Duke of Langdon was seriously injured, and the Holy Light descending upon her was like a light spring rain in the desert, offering no help to her injuries.

The white-robed archbishop gracefully landed in front of Duke Landon. Seeing that even "Holy Light" had no effect on Duke Landon, his expression suddenly froze, and a hint of disbelief flashed in his eyes—the hideous wound on the Duke's chest was not only deep enough to expose the bone, but also entwined with a strange energy that even holy light could not purify.

He no longer relied on the scepter, but instead handed it to his left hand, while his right hand slowly and solemnly formed a strange hand seal in front of his chest.

Then, he began to chant in a lower, more subdued tone. As his voice rose, a purer, milky-white holy light flowed down from his hand seals, completely enveloping Duke Langton.

However, when the light faded, although the Duke's condition improved—the wrinkles between her brows eased slightly, and the black aura around her wounds seemed to recede—the evil energy that had seeped into her very bones still lurked within her flesh and blood. Her pale complexion and weak breathing indicated that the treatment had been quite ineffective.

The archbishop frowned deeply, clearly extremely dissatisfied with the result. The stubbornness of the alien energy had exceeded his expectations. He had just used a higher-level divine spell than Holy Light—Blessing of the Holy Light. He had previously used this spell to heal a dying eighth-level knight, but its effect on the Duke was so minimal. Good heavens, just how serious are Duke Landon's injuries!

Without a second thought, he put down the scepter in his left hand, which stood firmly suspended in the air as if it were planted in the ground.

He moved both hands simultaneously, his ten fingers spreading out like lotus blossoms, drawing continuous trajectories in front of him. These trajectories paused briefly in the air, vaguely forming a complex sacred symbol.

This time, the chanting was noticeably louder, carrying an undeniable authority. The previously soft light barrier suddenly contracted, transforming into a condensed pillar of light, within which tiny golden runes faintly appeared. Under this intense light, the alien energy churned violently like boiling water, yet it still did not completely dissipate.

The archbishop's face darkened completely. He took a deep breath, and his hand gestures changed again—his fingers interlaced and flipped, the movements becoming noticeably faster.

His chanting quickened noticeably, and an indescribable, immense, divine aura emanated from him. The air currents throughout the port seemed to freeze. Everyone felt a pressure originating from the very depths of their souls.

His body moved without wind, his white robes billowing, and the third incantation he chanted resounded through the heavens, each word seemingly carrying a thousand pounds of weight. The pillar of light instantly surged, transforming from pure milky white into a dazzling gold!

In this sacred light, the stubborn dark energy in Duke Langton's chest finally hissed and dissipated, turning into wisps of black smoke. The Duke's wound visibly contracted and healed, large patches of necrotic tissue peeled away as light dust, and fresh flesh grew wildly at a visible rate, while broken bones made crisp sounds of reassembly. Her weak heartbeat gradually became steady and strong, and her breathing became calm and long.

As the last ray of light faded, everyone could clearly see that the Duke of Langton's chest wound had mostly healed, his eyes slowly opened, and although his gaze was still somewhat tired, it had regained its clarity. His originally pale cheeks quickly regained their color, and his breathing began to become steady and long.

Seeing that Duke Langton was finally recovering, the Archbishop breathed a sigh of relief, stopped casting the spell, and gripped his scepter again. However, casting this powerful divine spell had taken its toll on the Archbishop; fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, his breathing became somewhat rapid, and a barely perceptible pallor crossed his dignified face.

Clearly, the divine spell he had just used was a huge burden for him.

Just then, Duke Langton slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze first fell on the white-robed archbishop, and she said in a weak but clear voice, "Thank you for your help, Your Excellency the Archbishop."

"It is my duty to protect the goddess's people." The white-robed archbishop nodded, his voice low and somber, as if after casting a spell. "I just never imagined that such a tragedy could occur under the goddess's watchful eye. What happened? Even you..."

The Duke shook his head with difficulty, his voice filled with suppressed anger: "Lord Lawrence... has fallen."

"What?!" Upon hearing this, the white-robed archbishop swayed violently, his eyes filled with disbelief, as if he had heard the most absurd and blasphemous words. "What did you say? Cardinal Lawrence? How is this possible?!"

"To save the Elf Prince Arthas," Duke Langdon's words carried a heavy weight, "Lord Lawrence exhausted all his life force to save him."

She paused, her anger growing stronger: "We paid such a high price to save him... and this disaster is his way of repaying us!"

The news struck the white-robed archbishop like a thunderclap. His weariness was instantly replaced by profound shock. After a moment of silence, he spoke slowly, his voice filled with unprecedented solemnity:

"I understand... The fall of a cardinal means the situation has spiraled out of my control. Goddess above..." He took a deep breath, his gaze sharpening as he looked at Duke Landon, his tone becoming formal and brooking no refusal: "Your Grace, what you have witnessed and experienced concerns the very foundation of the Church. I must implore you to return with me to the Holy Light Cathedral in the Imperial Capital, to personally explain the details of this matter to His Holiness the Pope and Her Grace."

He paused, then lowered his voice, which carried a deeper meaning: "The matters here are far beyond what a white-robed archbishop like myself can decide alone. Please understand, this is not a request, but a procedure that must be followed at this moment."

The white-robed archbishop said nothing more. He bowed to the duke and then turned to walk towards the white horse.

Harry's eyes were fixed on him from the moment the white-robed archbishop began talking to the duke.

As the archbishop passed by Harry, their eyes briefly met. He had clearly noticed the magical shield Harry had cast earlier, but said nothing. Instead, he smiled at Harry, nodded amicably, and walked past.

The whole process took only a few seconds, but it felt incredibly long to Harry. Only when the figure completely disappeared from his sight did he let out a long sigh of relief, realizing that his clothes were already soaked with cold sweat.

The knights acted swiftly upon receiving the order. The captain, leading the group, gave a few concise hand gestures, and soon a carriage was summoned. Several knights carefully helped the Duke into the carriage, and the Duke, knowing he couldn't refuse the trip to the capital, did not resist. The knights even replaced the carriage's original horses with their own, and then prepared to escort the caravan towards the capital.