The person who arrived had golden hair, a handsome face, skin so fair and delicate as if he were the very image of a pretty boy.
Though his figure appeared carelessly relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets, he exuded a noble and regal air, a presence only seen in families of aristocracy generation after generation, making others feel unworthy even in his shadow.
But if one looked closely, they could see the indifference in his eyes, an apathy toward everything, a look only possessed by those who stand at the pinnacle of the world, indicating supreme self-confidence and disdain for all living beings.
Upon seeing the newcomer, both Joseph and Bernard's faces lit up with a touch of joy.
The golden-haired man glanced at the bloody wound on Bernard's chest and frowned slightly; with a gentle tap of his finger, a potent force of sanctity radiated from his fingertip, flowing into Bernard's wound.
The injury that was previously bleeding profusely was visibly healing before their eyes.