* * *
Though just like every other special individual out in the open, there was a reason why the Priests and Priestesses of Origin held a significant and unique tactical advantage over threats to the empire―one that surpassed even the Rune Masters.
They possessed exceptional abilities that went beyond the range of the invented, discovered, and explored realms of Rune Magic, which were classified as too dangerous.
Without constant supervision, rigorous training, and unwavering discipline, these powers could spiral out of control—turning their wielders into unstoppable killing machines or, worse, enemies of the empire itself.
The priest then lifted his head, his face now fully visible to Sir Raynald.
A white, unblemished silk cloth covered his eyes.
"Hmmm… No wonder I don't sense any sight coming from you," Raynald mused, his voice tinged with curiosity.
The priest's lips moved as he conveyed the question that had been bothering him since the first time he encountered this notorious Renegade—one of the many traitors against the emperor's rule—up until now, when he was finally powerless in his grasp.
"Why???"
"Hmmmm…" Sir Raynald raised an eyebrow.
"You assaulted two entire squads of the Night Shadow, led by two High Rankers, and even incapacitated two Rune Masters who came to help. You could have easily escaped if you had chosen to kill, instead of letting them go out of mercy, only for them to send word to the others. So why? Why does an evil traitor like you do that?"
There was genuine puzzlement in his tone, which made Sir Raynald's lips curve in amusement.
He was now one hundred percent sure this priest was extremely new; clueless about the complicated situation in the empire. Still untainted.
"Oh, curious much are you?" Sir Raynald teased with a smile.
Yet, beneath it all, he felt a twinge of annoyance at how this young priest made it seem like he was the bad guy who initiated the attack.
It had all been tough luck on his part, accidentally encountering those patrol teams while searching for a meal to bring back to that kid named El.
He felt a surge of resentment, thinking that it all stemmed from his hasty decision to help a group of children from a spirit, only for those busybody justice fools to attack him, accusing him of being evil and having some hidden agenda.
'Bloody hell. I've never been the one to attack first. What is this about assaulting two squads? I was freaking helping them. Those damned fools must be behind this,' he angrily lamented in his mind.
"Can you answer me, sir? Why??? You must know that if you are caught, even if the order is not to kill on sight, there's a high chance you'll be imprisoned in the Dragontooth. Or worse, become an experimental subject, tortured for life. Why do you risk it all?" the priest pressed, eager for an answer.
"Hmmmm… It's actually simple. The short answer is that… You guys have never been the real enemy. You never were."
The priest narrowed his eyes. "Miss Luccie told me a few things. If you know what I mean, would you have an answer to that?"
"That little girl? Best you ask her directly lest… Be careful…"
Suddenly, their conversation was cut short as one of the Praesguard abruptly manifested behind the priest, somehow moved undetected, holding a long sword that glinted in the night.
Frosty fog swirling along the edge of the blade.
None of them—not Sir Raynald, not the Priest, nor even the Praesguard-had anticipated the sudden betrayal.
Sir Raynald could only widen his eyes as the sword pierced the priest's back, penetrating through the shield that enveloped him and the specialized vestments that were not only durable but also magically enchanted to protect him.
Yet, the blade still managed to pierce through.
The sword tip emerged from the priest's chest, just shy of the skeleton hand that held Sir Raynald suspended in midair.
"Uhh…"
The priest gasped weakly, his gaze dropping to the blood-soaked fabric of his robes.
His face paled as the thick red liquid crystallized into shards of ice.
A frigid haze pooled in his mouth, choking him slightly as the blade not only punctured his heart but also froze it.
The cold, mystical haze from the sword spread rapidly, freezing his surrounding organs and blood.
Just a second later, he began to lose consciousness, acutely aware of how dire his situation was.
If he were in a coma, or worse, dead, none of the people here could stop his {Anima}, which had quietly slumbered inside his soul all this time.
"Please, no!!!" the priest muttered weakly, as something gradually stirred awake within him due to his condition.
*Accckkk*
*Clang*
*Scwing*
*Rasp*
The other Praesguards also turned on their own member, killing a few and injuring the rest who were not in cahoots with the one who attacked the priest.
Meanwhile, the assailant wasted no time.
With a swift, merciless motion, he ripped the sword from the priest's body, then grasped the hood and the white cloth that had concealed his face.
The fabric fell away, revealing empty eye sockets—voids of absolute darkness, ever-receding into nothingness.
Sir Raynald's breath hitched. "You crazy bastard," he exclaimed in panic.
He knew what was coming, and it was something terrible. He anxiously tried to wiggle free but was unsuccessful.
His heart raced, and cold sweat soaked his back as he watched the young priest's body stand frozen in unsettling silence.
Without delay, the assailant vanished from sight, hastily fleeing the scene. Seeing their mission was successful, the other traitors also fled.
Anyone who understood the history of the Priests of Origin knew that staying near a dying one was almost a ninety percent death sentence.
"Don't run, you cowards! Damn it…" Sir Raynald roared, gritting his teeth in hatred and desperation. 'I thought you were all coming for me. At least let me go first before fleeing!'
Then, a voice cut through the chaos.
"Free him! He is our only chance to survive this!" one of the female Praesguards, eyes wide in realization, shouted, quickly realizing the terrible peril they were in, especially after seeing the priest's body emanating a massive amount of Soul Essence all around.
She immediately invoked the {Accelerate} Rune to reach Sir Raynald.
With a swift analytical decision to understand the gravity of the situation, the other surviving Praesguard—those who had managed to fend off the enemies with little to no injuries—promptly followed the female Praesguard.
They ran desperately, knowing that every second counted.
{Surge} + {Water} + {Dispel}
…
{Charge} + {Brittle} + {Amplify}
…
{Lucent} + {Solidify} + {Harden}
{Torrent} + {Flame) + {Sharpen}
…
At the side of each Praesguard, an ethereal shape manifested—visible only to those who ignited their Soul Flame.
Three spinning golden Rune Orbs hovered at the vertices, connected by shimmering golden threads, forming a perfect triangle.
Each guard utilized their expertise to strike at the skeletal hand that held Sir Raynald captive, whether by enhancing their weapons with Rune Magic or casting spells directly.
However, despite their efforts, it all proved to be a futile endeavor.
*Boom*
*Clang*
*Bang*
"What the hell, are you all trying to kill me? Just share your Soul Essence with me…" Sir Raynald complained loudly, as their attacks might not harm him squarely, but the vibration sure did.
Their anxiety also grew as the priest's body burned in golden flame, while from the darkness of his eye socket, an enigmatic set of eyes little by little unfolded itself.
One of the Praesguard, fortunate enough to possess proficiency in this area, immediately used {Revitalize}, imbuing Soul Essence directly into Sir Raynald's Soul Flame.
The severely depleted flame flared back to life, burning vigorously once more.
With renewed strength, Sir Raynald crushed the skeleton's hand, freeing himself.
Yet, it still was a tad too late, as the thing they were wary and afraid of already opened its eyes wide.
A wave of invisible pressure crashed down upon them, suffocating, immense, like the weight of a mountain pressing against their very souls.
Raynald cursed under his breath.
"Damn it…"
Every nerve in their bodies stiffened, their instincts screaming in warning.
* * *