Chapter 221: Powerless
Flamme's face was grim. She took out her staff. She had not yet fully recovered her mana, but she still had enough for a flight spell.
Ela, on the other hand, was fearless. She was almost spoiling for a fight. She had barely used any of her own mana in the last battle and could have easily dealt with these guards. The priests inside... they would have been more of a challenge. The air was thick with tension, and a battle was imminent.
And then, an old and commanding voice came from within the temple.
"Stand down."
The voice had a strange, magical quality to it, and the guards all froze. They looked towards the sound, and from the depths of the temple, an old man in a simple white robe, flanked by two young priests, emerged. It was the bishop of this temple, Cassarius.
His calm gaze swept over the drawn swords, and then fell upon the two girls, and finally, upon Frieren, who was still unconscious on Flamme's back. He saw the bloodstains on her dress, and a flicker of a deep and profound emotion passed over his face.
"Lower your weapons," he commanded.
"But, my lord," the captain of the guard said, a look of a clear and present confusion on his face, "they attacked the guards. They were trying to force their way in..."
"I said, lower your weapons," he repeated, his voice still calm, but with a new and undeniable weight to it, a weight that made the captain's own heart skip a beat. He did not hesitate any longer. "Yes, my lord," he said, and the circle of guards broke, and they lowered their swords.
The bishop walked over to them. He did not look at Ela, but at the girl on her friend's back. He raised a hand, and a gentle, healing light began to glow.
"It is useless," she said coldly. "A normal healing spell will not work. Otherwise, we would have done it ourselves."
He did not respond. And after a moment, when he had confirmed that his own magic was indeed useless, he looked up, his own gaze now a grim and sober thing. "May I ask... how did this young elven girl come to be so gravely injured?"
He did not ask why they had tried to force their way in. He already knew.
The girl looked at the old man, at his peaceful and gentle face, and she could feel it, the pure and unadulterated aura of a true and holy light, an aura that was a world away from the cold and indifferent guards. And so she told him everything, and she told him of the demon general, Bazalt.
Ela stood to the side, her own gaze a sharp and watchful thing.
He listened in silence, and his gaze returned to the wound. He had felt it, the dark and corrosive power that still lingered within it, a power so great it had made even him, a master of a holy magic, shudder.
After a long, long silence, he made his decision.
"In the light of the goddess," he said, his voice now a firm and unyielding sound, "all life has a value. Regardless of a race, or of a faith, we cannot just stand by and watch another die."
He turned to the captain of the guard. "Bring the young lady in," he said, "and these two as well."
The captain was taken aback, but he did as he was told.
A wave of a profound relief washed over the girl. "Thank you," she said, her own voice a grateful whisper.
And even Ela's own cold and guarded expression softened a little. "I am sorry," she said.
"It is alright," he said with a slight nod. "I understand your feelings. To save the dying is the duty of a follower of the goddess. But..." his own voice now a grim and somber thing, "...this power... it is a great and terrible thing. And even I... I am not sure if I can do it. You must prepare yourselves for the worst."
In the temple's infirmary, she lay on a stone table. After a careful examination, the bishop's own face was a mask of a deep and profound concern. But he still had to try.
He placed his hands over her, and a new and even more powerful light, a milky-white light that was a hundred times more potent than her own, now appeared in his hands. It flowed down and enveloped her, and the moment it touched the wound, a sizzling sound filled the air. The black, corrupting energy, as if it were a living thing, now began to writhe and struggle, to fight back against the pure and holy light.
He was shocked, but he held his ground.
Time passed. A sheen of a cold sweat appeared on his brow. But the blackness, though it had been suppressed, though the wound was now beginning to close... it was still there, in the depths of her being, a root that could not be removed.
After a few more minutes, he lowered his hands. "I am sorry," he said, and looked at her own, now even paler, face. "The dark power in her... it is a thing of a great and terrible strength. I have never seen such a corruption. I can only suppress it, slow its spread. But I cannot remove it. Not unless... there was someone who could cast the spell continuously. And even then... her own life force is still fading. I do not think she has more than three days."
"Three days?" The girl's own voice was a trembling, disbelieving sound. Even the bishop of the holy temple... he can do nothing?
The elf just let out a long and quiet sigh. They could do nothing.
He looked at them, at their own, now broken, expressions, and he did not say what he was thinking. In theory, with such a strange and new corruption... the best thing to do would be to keep her here, to study it. With the speed of a human magical development, in a few hundred years, they might even find a cure. But... he knew, from her earlier actions, that they would not allow it.
(End of chapter)
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