The [Saint], a silver-haired young woman known as Lia the Saint, was in tears.
She was ashamed, ashamed of her failure to stop the Demon King Cult from their insane attempt to unseal the underworld and revive their lord.
When the Goddess of Life blessed her with the [Saint] class, Lia had vowed to defend the realm itself in the goddess's name.
She was once the fourth princess of the Kingdom of Sol, an unwanted child, disposable and forgotten, but through divine grace, she found her purpose.
She was no longer a forgotten princess. She was the heroine of faith.
At least, she used to believe so.
But now, she had failed.
And as she watched the final moments of the cult's ritual unfold, she could only tremble.
If death was approaching, she deserved it.
Even as a level 55 [Saint], one of the world's strongest mages, she had been beaten and captured.
Her pride was gone. Her body was broken. Her mana was dry.
Her chains, enchanted by powerful reinforcement magic, cut into her flesh as the cultists laughed around her.
She had failed the goddess.
Failed humanity.
'I'm sorry… I'm sorry to all of you.'
The ritual circle glowed, its blood-red light filling the underground hall.
The cultists chanted in rapture, and in the next instant, the air cracked apart.
A gate opened.
Through it, a figure stepped out, a shadow in human form, cloaked in gray, a rapier glinting faintly in his hand.
Lia's tear-blurred vision could barely make him out.
To her, the being looked like something straight from hell, a demon, or perhaps the Demon King's envoy himself.
The cultists cheered in mad delight.
"My, my, my! Another envoy of the Abyss! How glorious!"
"You have come in answer to our prayer! O blessed servant of our lord, the Demon King."
And then, the screaming began.
One flash.
Two flashes.
Ten flashes.
Bodies fell apart before the screams could even echo.
Heads rolled, blood sprayed, limbs hit the ground like shattered dolls.
The air stank of death, yet it was silent, eerily, absolutely silent.
The ritual chamber, moments ago filled with laughter, was now a grave.
The black-haired man stood atop the corpses, his face calm, expressionless.
If this was the envoy of hell, then the world was truly doomed.
Lia lowered her gaze, resigned.
'So this is it, I'll be next. I'll be the sacrifice to complete the summoning. I failed everyone again.'
But then
"One more cleanup, then." the man muttered.
His tone was cold, but human. Not distorted, not demonic.
She blinked through her tears and looked again.
He wasn't a god of death.
He was a man. A young one, maybe.
Black hair, dull gray eyes, a long, tattered coat of gray armor that bore the insignia of some ancient military.
He didn't look like a monster, he looked like a weary knight who had seen too much war.
'A human?'
He stepped closer, his boots splashing in blood. His eyes widened when he saw her condition.
He raised his sword, and Lia instinctively flinched, expecting death.
Instead, the blade sliced through the air with a single clang, and her chains shattered.
The cursed metal that even she couldn't dispel, gone in one swing.
Before she could collapse, the man caught her, his gloved hands steady but gentle.
He checked her pulse, then uncorked a vial and poured its contents down her throat.
It was bitter and cold, but almost instantly, warmth spread through her body. Her torn flesh began to mend.
Her broken bones realigned. Her breath stabilized.
She stared at him in disbelief.
'This healing.. even I couldn't do this without full mana.. Just what kind of potion is this? A divine relic?'
"Stay still," the man said, voice calm but tinged with concern. "I'm not sure if this is enough, but it should hopefully stitch you back together for now."
She couldn't even answer. Her eyes watered again, though this time not from pain.
When he finished tending her, he leaned back and sighed.
"Just.. who are you?" Lia finally asked, her voice a weak whisper.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood, picking up a waterskin from a fallen cultist's table. He sniffed it, shrugged, and tossed it to her.
"Drink," he said.
"I'm not with them," she managed to say. "I'm not a cultist."
"Good," he said simply, kneeling beside another corpse to check the body. "You can speak clearly now."
She blinked, confused. "A-apologies for my shameful display earlier."
"I don't mind. It's natural."
"Still.."
"Less talking, more drinking. You still look like shit."
Her cheeks flushed at his bluntness, but she obeyed.
The cool water felt divine against her parched throat.
She finished the entire flask before daring to look up again.
"The name's Leon Drayven," he said casually. "Captain of the Hell Crusader, Holy Emerald Empire. You're with the Holy Church, right? Probably a [Saint]?"
The name struck her like lightning.
Holy Emerald Empire.
That nation had perished four centuries ago. Its knights were legends, their deeds recorded in scripture and myth.
And this man claimed to be a captain from that very army?
Her hands trembled. "A-Are you serious…?"
Leon stopped sorting through the cultists' documents and gave her a puzzled glance. "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be? They haven't changed the uniform much in 50 years, I hope."
Lia's throat tightened. She wanted to scream, but all that came out was a whisper.
"Sir Leon.. your country.. it's been gone for more than four hundred years."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Leon stared at her for a long time, eyes blank.
If this was a joke, it was a cruel one.
He questioned her thoroughly afterward.
Lia was sincere. She told him everything about the stuff that happened after he entered the abyss, the fall of the Holy Emerald Empire, and how humanity rebuilt itself under the Holy Church's rule.
Four hundred years.
Everything he knew, his comrades, his home, his empire, gone.
He looted the cult's remains silently, taking every potion, gem, and artifact he could find.
Not out of greed, but necessity. He had nothing left.
'I guess my planned retirement is ruined. Damn it.'
Lia watched him curiously. "Do you need help?"
"I said just Leon is fine. But sure. If you want to help, take your share. 50-50 split."
She frowned. "I am the [Saint] and a princess of Sol. I do not loot corpses like a common soldier."
Leon didn't even look up. "Then check outside for survivors. You'll be helping that way."
"I see. Alright."
Defeated, Lia left to scout outside, while Leon filled his bags of holding with supplies.
When he finally emerged into the daylight, he squinted.
The sunlight hurt his eyes after years in the underworld. He chuckled bitterly.
"You killed them all, Sir Leon," Lia said, returning with a calm, dignified expression. "I've found no survivors."
"That's good," he said, unfolding a map he took from the cultists. "Tell me, where are we?"
She pointed to a small mark on the parchment. "The forest east of Adem Town. Though… that town was attacked recently. By the cult."
Leon's eyes narrowed. "Figures. They were in contact with someone there. Possibly a local noble."
He folded the map. "I'm heading there next. You?"
Lia hesitated. "I intend to return to the Holy Church once I've ensured this crisis is handled."
Leon looked at her, then sighed. "Not a good idea. If what you said is true, they sent you here alone to die."
Her eyes widened. "T-that's not—"
"Decide for yourself," he interrupted, standing. "I don't have time to argue."
She looked down, trembling, then forced a weak smile. "Then I'll accompany you to Adem. It's the least I can do after you saved me."
Leon gave her a side glance. "Fine by me. Just one question, got any long-range movement skills?"
She blinked. "What?"
"I'll take that as a no. Don't scream."
"Wait, what are you?"
Leon sighed, then picked her up effortlessly in a princess carry. Lia's face turned crimson.
"Hold on tight," he said.
Before she could protest again, the world blurred.
The forest flashed past them in streaks of light. Each step covered hundreds of meters.
Lia screamed the entire way.
When they finally landed at the outskirts of Almarche, her face was white, her hair disheveled, and her arms still gripping Leon's coat.
He smirked faintly. "Still alive?"
Lia shot him a glare, but the tears welling up in her eyes made her look more flustered than furious.