Chapter 30 – The True Saintess

Chapter 30 – The True Saintess

Liria regarded the kneeling Joren and his fellow penitents with impassive dignity.

Everyone in the chamber held their breath as they awaited her judgment. Even the faint crackle of torches along the stone walls seemed to quiet, as though the fire itself dared not intrude.

Inside, she was a mess.

Her gaze moved slowly across the kneeling figures. She studied the tightness in their shoulders, the trembling hands pressed together in prayer, the way their heads bowed just a little too low. Fear, yes. But also something else. Shame. Hope. Desperation.

She lifted her eyes toward the holding cells lining the chamber. Iron bars cast long shadows across the prisoners within. Some faces were twisted with anger, lips curled back, eyes sharp with hatred. Others looked on with something softer, their expressions caught between resentment and reluctant understanding. A few even lowered their gazes, as if they could not bear to watch.

Joren and his comrades had truly tried to resist.

She already knew that. The stream of faith flowing from them into her was steady and untainted. It pulsed with sincerity, warm and aching, like hands reaching up from deep water.

Liria did not want to kill them.

Her thoughts tangled and broke apart, reforming just as quickly. The Ritual of Inversion surfaced in her mind. She could force their corruption to turn inward, unravel it, rewrite it at the root. But the strain would be immense. And adjusting the ritual for fragile human bodies and souls would require precision she could not guarantee. There were too many of them. Far too many.

Her fingers curled faintly at her sides.

Then could she halt their transformation instead? Suspend the process while she searched for a cure?

Liria paused.

That… could work.

At level 508, she still lacked the strength to cast Time Stop herself. But Ilyrien could do it. With Kaerthis anchoring the effect through the World Tree, it might be possible to sustain a localized pocket of halted time. The faith currently flowing toward Liria could be redirected, feeding the spell, stabilizing it indefinitely.

It would not solve anything. It would simply delay the inevitable.

She would be handing the burden to her future self, gambling on a cure she did not even know was possible. Days, years, decades… she had no way of knowing how long it might take. By then, these people might return to a world that had already forgotten them.

It was cruel. But it was the best she could do.

A bitter taste rose in her throat. Why was she like this? Why did every choice feel so… incomplete?

Warmth brushed against her hand. Liria blinked and looked down.

Seris stood beside her, small fingers wrapped firmly around her own. The child tilted her head up, offering a soft, reassuring smile that seemed far too steady for someone so young.

“In the same way that you once healed me, I can also heal these people,” Seris said quietly. Her voice was gentle, but there was a calm certainty beneath it that made Liria’s breath catch. “Will you leave this up to me, Big Sister?”

Liria opened her mouth, but no words came.

“It’s Seris’s turn to help Big Sis now.”

For a fleeting moment, Seris lingered at her side. The childish brightness in her expression softened, settling into something quieter, deeper. Her small fingers slipped from Liria’s grasp, and though her posture remained slight, there was a newfound steadiness in the way she held herself, as if she had stepped into a role far greater than her years.

Before Liria could respond, Seris stepped forward.

“Seris—”

Too late.

Warm golden light spilled into the chamber as the bracelet concealing her presence fell away. It spread outward in a slow, steady tide, washing over stone and iron alike. The air shifted. It grew lighter, cleaner, as though something unseen had been swept aside.

The penitents hissed as the light touched them. Some flinched. One trembled so violently his clasped hands knocked against the floor.

None of them moved from where they knelt.

The Saintess of Light faced them.

“Lost children of the Goddesses,” she said, and Liria couldn’t resist staring. So imperious and commanding was her voice.

“You beg for salvation, yet you have sinned. Open your souls to me and be judged. To those who truly repent, I will grant deliverance.”

Her gaze sharpened, the blue of her eyes turning cold and cutting.

“To those who pretend out of fear…”

The temperature seemed to drop.

“I will bring swift retribution.”

Light gathered around her, bright enough that the edges of her silhouette blurred. It burned with perfect steadiness, like a star brought down into mortal space.

“Submit yourselves before me and be judged.”

The kneeling penitents stirred. Hope flared across most of their faces, fragile and desperate.

One man rose unsteadily to his feet.

“I defy you!” he shouted. His voice cracked, but he forced it louder. “I only did what I had to! What right do you sanctimonious bitches have to judge us?”

His hand dropped to his belt. For a split second, his fingers fumbled, slick with sweat. Then they closed around the hilt. Steel flashed as he tore the dagger free.

He hesitated.

It was brief. Barely a heartbeat. His eyes flicked toward the others still kneeling, then toward the blazing figure of the Saintess ahead. Fear warred with something harsher, something brittle and defensive. His lips peeled back, teeth bared as if in a snarl meant to drown out his doubt.

With a ragged shout, he lunged forward.

His boots scraped harshly against the stone as he broke into a run, dagger raised high. The blade trembled in his grip, catching and scattering the golden light as he closed the distance, his breath coming fast and uneven, each step driven more by desperation than conviction.

Seris lifted one hand in a single unhurried motion. Holy fire blossomed into existence and consumed him whole.

There was no scream. Only a brief, searing flash of gold, and then nothing remained but drifting ash that faded before it could touch the ground.

Silence crashed back into the chamber.

A tight knot formed in Liria’s chest. So there had been a pretender among them. And she had missed it, lost in her own turmoil.

Her gaze flicked to Seris.

For the briefest instant, the child’s fingers tightened at her side. Not much. Just enough for the knuckles to pale beneath the glow. Her shoulders drew in a fraction, and there was a small, almost imperceptible hitch in her breathing, as though something inside her had recoiled from what she had just done.

It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

The light steadied. Her posture straightened. By the time Seris looked forward again, her expression was once more composed and distant, the Saintess restored in full.

Liria exhaled slowly and forced her own expression to remain serene.

There was no point dwelling on it now. Liria would trust Seris, and be ready to offer support the moment she needed it. That was her duty.

Instead, she watched with quiet worry, and more than a little pride as her little sister took her first steps as a Saintess.

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Seris stood unmoving, her gaze fixed upon the remaining penitents. The light pouring from her was almost blinding now. It pressed down on the chamber like a physical weight. The penitents bowed lower, their bodies trembling under the strain, but they did not retreat.

Seconds stretched. Then at last, Seris nodded, and the light softened. The harsh brilliance gentled into something warm and encompassing, like sunlight at dawn. The tension in the air eased, though the sense of awe remained.

Seris brought her hands together in prayer.

“Pray with me,” she said. Her voice rose into song.

It was high and clear, each note carrying a sweetness that seemed to sink directly into the heart. The melody was simple, almost childlike, yet it resonated with something ancient and profound. It echoed through the chamber, lingering in the spaces between breaths.

For a moment, no one moved. Then one of the penitents joined in, his voice rough and uncertain. Others followed.

Soon, the chamber filled with a fragile chorus. Some voices trembled. Others cracked. But they held together, drawn along by the steady clarity of Seris’s hymn.

Threads of golden light began to form. They stretched from each penitent, thin and luminous, weaving through the air until they converged upon the small figure at the center. The threads pulsed faintly, in time with the rhythm of the prayer.

The taint within them was dark, clinging, and stubborn. But when Seris reached out and opened herself to it, just enough, the darkness reacted instantly.

It lunged.

What had been reluctant and coiled now surged forward with sudden hunger, rushing along the threads of light as if it had been waiting for this moment. It recognized her. It wanted her. The pull of it sharpened, eager and insistent, straining toward her small body with almost desperate intent.

Liria’s heart skipped, but Seris did not retreat. She held the darkness and guided it.

The corruption flooded into her in twisting strands, writhing as it tried to sink deeper, to take root, to claim what it had always hungered for. For a brief moment, the light around her flickered.

Then something shifted. The movement of the darkness slowed.

And inverted.

Where it should have burrowed, it unraveled. Where it should have spread, it folded inward. Its very nature was being rewritten, drawn through Seris like thread through a needle, its edges softening, its hunger losing shape.

Bit by bit, the writhing strands lost their malice. The sharp, grasping edges smoothed into something warm, something whole. What emerged from Seris was no longer taint, but a bright, living energy that flowed back along the threads.

It poured into the penitents, filling the hollows left behind.

Their bodies shuddered. Color returned to their faces. The tension in their limbs eased. The sharp edges of hunger that had lingered in their expressions softened into something human again.

The hymn continued.

It felt longer than it really was. By the time the last thread faded, Seris’s small shoulders had begun to rise and fall more quickly. A fine sheen of sweat covered her forehead, catching the light in tiny, glistening beads.

The chamber fell quiet once more.