Chapter 41: Purification

Observing the flushed and embarrassed maiden for a moment, Panni removed his padded robe and placed it by the shore. Stepping away to a slight distance, he listened to the rustling sounds of dressing behind him, collected his thoughts, and began to recite the incantation for enduring elemental harm.

In the icy northern night, one would quickly realize the biting chill upon shedding thick garments. Panni shivered as he attempted to cast the spell, only to find a profound stillness in the magical connections. He inwardly cursed, realizing he had forgotten that the magic web CD from the previous day had not yet completed its cycle; he hadn't prepared for this particular spell.

"Feeling cold?" A warm sensation enveloped his back, and an invisible protective shield draped over him, dispelling the chill entirely. Panni turned to see the Saint Warrior clad in her robe, offering a warm smile. "I came prepared with this divine art."

"No wonder you dare to bathe here," Panni exclaimed, the realization dawning upon him.

"I haven't used it," the Saint Warrior hastily interjected, as if defending herself. "I endure the cold to test my willpower. Preparing this spell is merely a precaution against unforeseen circumstances."

Brave, upright, and prudent, Panni gradually formed his impression of the Saint Warrior through these days of observation. Living in the somber confines of the Scarlet Robe Society, he found himself admiring the maiden's character. Hearing her explanation, he furrowed his brow at the water droplets on her hair. "Enduring cold to test one's willpower? This seems like an extreme form of training. Does your deity advocate such practices?"

"The scriptures of His Highness do not mention it, but both the Archbishop and the instructors advise us to do so," Sela narrowed her brows. "Sometimes we need to venture deep into the abyss and outer planes for battle, where all sorts of environments may emerge, including cold, strong acids, and molten lava, all of which are encountered frequently."

"So being a Saint Warrior is as perilous as this," Panni sighed, pondering briefly, realizing the comparable dangers of this occupation to the environment of the Scarlet Robe Society.

"Mages, warriors, adventurers, merchants, nobles, commoners... in Phareon, no occupation is secure. I do not possess such profound wisdom; these are words imparted to me by the Archbishop," the Saint Warrior said, feeling somewhat embarrassed as she noticed Panni's astonished gaze.

"You often mention this Archbishop; do you hold him in great reverence?" Panni suddenly found himself intrigued by the Temple of Tyr in Tymis, inquiring further.

"Of course, when I was five, the baron in our town seized our estate. If it weren't for the Archbishop presiding over justice in court, I would have been a homeless wanderer," Sela reminisced dreamily. "At that moment, I decided to join the church, and thanks to the unwavering support of the Archbishop, I had the chance to fight for His Highness Tyr. You see, since the incident at Winterless Castle ten years ago, the church has rarely trained female Saint Warriors."

"Ten years ago... Winterless Castle?"

Panni furrowed his brow and pondered for a moment, finally retrieving a piece of information from the obscure corners of his mind. It seemed to be about a renowned female Saint Warrior of Tyr who had fallen from grace in a notorious incident, dealing a heavy blow to the reputation of the Tyr Church in the Sword Bay area, causing a significant decline in both the size of its congregation and its overall prestige.

Since then, the Tyr Church had become stricter in its adherence to certain aspects of the warrior code regarding abstinence and had begun to cautiously cultivate female Saint Warriors.

In light of this, the young woman before him was indeed facing considerable challenges.

"This is my first time leaving the church; it's an exploration and practice for us Saint Warriors," Sela said, her tone somewhat subdued as she lowered her head. "But not only did I fail to accomplish anything, I also caused trouble for Mr. Sean and several companions. I am far from being a qualified Saint Warrior."

Panni smiled gently. "I've said before, no one is born knowing how to venture into danger."

"So why was Mr. Sean so composed when facing that monster?" Sela questioned, looking at Panni with genuine perplexity.

"Perhaps he's accustomed to it," Panni recalled his experiences at the Scarlet Robe Mage Academy and let out a wistful laugh, his expression inexplicably tinged with melancholy.

"Does Mr. Sean have worries too?"

"Well, perhaps," Panni replied, "I truly envy your steadfast conviction; it's certainly better than that of the machinist." With a smile, Panni shifted the conversation.

"People always need faith; it is the solace and support of the soul, giving one the strength to move forward," Sela said solemnly. "Mr. Sean, whatever troubles you may have, please remain steadfast in your beliefs, and there will always be a solution."

Panni felt a hint of melancholy in his heart. He had no bias against the faith of the Saint Warriors; in fact, he harbored a faint envy. Coming from a land and era where faith had collapsed, his life had always lacked motivation and passion.

So, in this magnificent world illuminated by the radiance of the gods, what should he live for? Pursuing power? Panni felt this reason was somewhat shallow for him.

"What is this?" Panni heard the girl's exclamation, and upon turning his head, he saw Sela staring dumbfoundedly at the masterpiece left by the wandering poet under the tree.

Panni sighed and spread his hands. "This is, of course, Anael's legacy."

"Mr. Stefanis, he... he... he's beyond redemption," Sela stammered angrily, pulling out her sword as if to hack it into pieces. However, upon seeing the lifelike image on it, she felt a subtle sensation upon admiring her own nudity from this perspective for the first time. Though she knew the painting was impure, she found herself unable to swing the sword.

"May the Highness guide my resolve," she closed her eyes, preparing to make a decisive decision.

"Wait," Panni intervened, blocking Sela. He squatted down in front of the painting, dipped the brush in ink, and despite Sela's discontent, she approached with some curiosity. She saw the mage use sky-blue ink to sketch a few strokes on the girl, covering her nudity with a simple breastplate.

"If we were to ruin the efforts of that rogue in such a manner, it would be such a pity," Panni smirked maliciously, continuing to sketch on the canvas. Though his artistic skills were modest, having drawn anatomical diagrams before, he was not entirely ignorant of art. The armor style was simple, and beneath the rough strokes, there was a hint of cartoonish feel, presenting a not unpleasant visual effect. "With a few more strokes added, after he sees it, he'll probably cough up blood."

Panni glanced back at the stunned Holy Warrior, then added a longsword in front of the girl's hand on the painting. The previously lewd style was immediately swept away, and the female warrior in armor appeared resolute amidst the faint mist.

The Holy Warrior's face grew even redder as she watched Panni's brush move across the canvas, depicting the nude figure of the girl. She felt a wave of inexplicable sensations in both body and mind.

It was somewhat uncomfortable, yet more ambiguous—of course, she couldn't quite articulate it.

For a worldly inexperienced girl standing behind an artist, observing a sketch of herself, her mental processes must be subtle and ineffable, especially considering her somewhat favorable feelings towards Panni—even if these sentiments had not yet soured.

"Not enough," Panni remarked, glancing again at the now deeper crimson hue of Sela's face. He dipped his brush into a silver-white ink and added a stroke behind the girl in the painting. It seemed to emit a radiant glow, producing a pair of immaculate wings, lending a touch of divinity to the martial scene. Yet, juxtaposed with the slightly bewildered expression of the girl in the painting, it exuded more of an untainted purity.

The surrounding mist, akin to clouds, cradled the angelic female warrior's form, while the shadows beneath her wings remained pristine and untouchable.

"This should suffice, although my proficiency may still be lacking." Panni smiled smugly, removing the painting from the easel. In such cold weather, the ink quickly solidified. He handed it to the dazed Holy Warrior girl. "I have purified it."

"No, no need..." Sela shook her head vigorously, turning her flushed face away. She seemed even more unwilling to face this purified version compared to the adult-rated one. "Leave it as a keepsake for Mr. Sean."

"Alright." Sean adjusted the easel and smiled at Sela. "I'm going to rest for a bit. You shouldn't linger here too long."

Sela stood still for a moment, hesitating. Then, she clenched her fist and shouted after Panni's departing figure, "Mr. Sean, I will continue to strive, and I ask that you do the same."

Sean sighed, his breath turning into white mist in the icy landscape. His mind cleared of cluttered thoughts, focusing on what lay ahead.

After this incident, Sallyfen and a prominent elder from the Witch's Council had aligned themselves with him. Several Holy Warriors of Tyr had also joined his cause, giving him some strength and influence. When they went to investigate in Musan Tyr, if things went awry, they would have options.

The only thing to be cautious about was to conceal his identity. In recent days, he had often used the Comyr dialect in his speech. At first, it was awkward, but Anel wouldn't suspect him. The Holy Warriors were from Tumis, which was distant from Comyr, so they wouldn't notice any discrepancies. As time went on, he became more proficient, confident he could deceive them...

But he needed to be even more careful.

"Inquire you, the individuals from Madiel Outpost, are on their way here?" Within the walls of Musan Tyr, the sixth Osloth, adorned with a butterfly mask, gazed at Mius Delan with an air of deference, though his expression soured somewhat.

"Milord, it is said that the trolls there are rampant..."

"Dispatch word for them to return; there's no place for them within the city at present." Osloth waved impatiently, cutting off the witch's words. "Preparations for the conflict are in full swing."

"But, Milord Osloth, we..." Seeing Osloth impatiently wave his hand again, Mius Delan retracted the latter half of her sentence, "Is it truly so pressing?"

"We haven't the energy to accommodate them, naturally," Osloth reiterated. "Refuse them; it's an order."

"...Yes." Mius Delan glanced at Osloth, the gleam of suspicion in her eyes growing heavier. Nevertheless, she could only turn away from the room in resignation.

The sixth Osloth sat quietly in the chair, their dark eyes following Mius Delan until she exited the room. Only then did they rise, sealing the doors and windows carefully before entering a dim alcove. In the center stood a candlestick; they picked up a small piece of thin copper wire and dropped it within, reciting an incantation while gesturing with their hands. Shortly after the wire burned away, a vague, indistinct figure appeared in the mirror behind the candlestick. "...Are you... summoning me?"

"Yes, Milord, I seek your assistance," Osloth bowed with deference.

"...Speak..."

"In the southern region of Latheman, Osloth and the elders were originally diverted by our measures, but there is one elder who was previously unaccounted for and has now resurfaced, poised to arrive at Musan Tyr. This is a formidable mage with a casting ability of five circles. Our preparations here, I fear, may be difficult to conceal from him..."

"Then send some individuals to deal with them... A mere five-circle caster, you needn't worry about such matters anymore. Continue with the arrangements; the Master's full awakening requires a substantial blood sacrifice. Also, your subordinate may not be entirely trustworthy, it would be wise to dispose of them promptly."

The shadow flickered for a moment, then vanished.

"...Yes." Osloth bowed once more to the mirror, pondering the shadow's final words. Their expression shifted briefly, determination gleaming in their eyes, before they turned and departed.