Leona aimed her rifle towards the sky, twitching at the slightest shuffle and sound. Although victory chants resounded across Malten moments ago, she could never be sure that every heathen had died. Especially considering one lay five paces away.

Front two legs shattered beneath its core, bright blue blood poured from holes in a crawling devil's body. The corrupted creature had lived a short while ago. It squeezed into the dead-end alley Leona defended and probed inside with long, sharp, and slender claws.

While the sight of a rabid beast pushing closer shook her every limb, an encounter an enchantress’ training never prepared her for, Leona had shot the crawler out of necessity. She was responsible for the lives of three people.

One was a surgeon with pale green eyes. He poured bucket after bucket of water onto a dying sorceress while an Einheart baroness’ daughter—a woman Leona once met at a banquet—refilled every receptacle at the only external well near west main street. Surrounded by the three stone walls of a narrow alley and a crawling devil, neither they nor Leona could escape.

"Keep the water coming, Lili!"

Pink ribbon bobbing at the end of her long ponytail as she tugged the chain of the well windlass, the noblewoman heaved for air. "Yes, Mr. Dimitry!"

Leona vowed to keep them alive. Fingers trembling around the voltech rifle's bumpy grip and iron barrel, she scoured brightening skies.

Something large and blue soared far beyond gray clouds, darting towards the ocean, but drowsiness after a sleepless day suggested the culprit was a hallucination. Not a single flying devil in sight.

Leona couldn’t suppress the urge to glance down at the alley floor.

Cedany lay undressed on a leather sheet. Bright pink flesh covered most of her left arm, leg, and belly, and clear liquids leaked from patches of loose skin peeling away like overmoist pastry dough. Some of her burns oozed goo thicker than a rottcoiler's slime trail, while others were whiter and drier than untanned pigskin. Snot dripped from the sorceress’ nose as tears streamed from her eyes. Cedany whimpered with every splash of water across her body.

What if Angelika was out on the streets, similarly injured?

The thought made Leona queasy.

"You alright?" Dimitry asked.

"F-fine! Focus on Cedany!"

He rummaged through a box of tools and retrieved an obscure knife with a rounded edge. "Lili, keep irrigating."

"Yes, Mr. Dimitry!"

Unable to suppress her nausea as Lady Lili and Dimitry did, Leona felt shame. But her dread—one so visceral that her skin seemed to tighten around her body—held merit. Massive heathen burns were said to feel as though the corruption consumed the victim from the outside, blistering heat digging deeper into the body, searing like the fumes of a bread oven. Watching her friend suffer so excruciatingly made Leona queasy. But she couldn’t idle anymore. Without the threat of heathens, she yearned to help however she could.

Leona knelt beside Cedany and cupped her unblistered hand. "Hey. You’ll be fine. You'll be playing the lute for your grandmother again soon! We’ll even go have your dress made at the tailor’s just like you wanted!"

She glanced past Leona’s face to stare at empty skies above.

"Don't worry about a thing. The Jade Surgeon himself is taking care of you!"

Cedany's lips moved, but her words didn’t manifest into sound.

Pretending to understand, Leona nodded. She smiled despite never knowing of a sorceress that had survived wounds so grievous. Body-wide burns from a heathen's blood made people swell up. Eventually, fluids would pour from flesh like ale spilling from a fallen mug—soaking the bed and floors. The danger of the job was one reason combat sorceresses couldn't find suitors. Not only were most the second daughters of a family, rarely inheriting land or property of their own, but they often died during heathen raids. Combat sorceresses didn't make for reliable wives.

Leona prayed Cedany wouldn't end up the same way. But if she did, a restful passing would be for the best. "Dimitry."

Cutting away peeling skin with his strange knife, the surgeon glanced up, offering an encouraging smile. "You're doing great. Keep talking to her."

"Shall I put Cedany to sleep?"

"Although I'd like that as well, unfortunately, we can't. I need her awake for a procedure. Try to keep her conscious."

"How about relaxia?" Leona asked. "If only to numb the pain."

Brows furrowed, Dimitry paused. "If you’re sure you can numb just the injuries and not the belly, head, or throat, please do."

Leona reached into the vol compartment within her leather vest and grabbed a cold and smooth pellet. She targeted Cedany's burnt limbs and envisioned them dropping limply to the floor, all sensation extinguished. "Relaxia."

Cedany's eyelids fell, and her jaw unclenched. Her lips curved into a fatigued smile before losing their strength.

"Well done," Dimitry said, "but I still need her awake."

"Leave it to me." Although Leona crouched in an alley smelling of bedpan fluids, guarding Dimitry with her life, doubts regarding his claims to apostlehood and Church-like magic invaded her mind. Even if Dimitry wasn’t with the Church, she had no guarantee that he wouldn't make the city rely on his spells and knowledge only to one day abandon them all.

Leona wanted to trust Dimitry just as Angelika did, especially since he had saved her mother’s life, but the echoes of the Church's betrayal haunted her still. Their benevolent deeds had earned the trust of all, and their sudden disappearance caused the Gestalt Wars.

Her father left to fight a prolonged battle.

When they learned he would never return, her mother and Angelika lapsed into non-responsiveness.

While no one else could work and to combat the prevailing despair that had threatened to collapse her household, Leona spent much of her adolescence doing every chore and running the shop in a state of forced positivity. All because of the Church. Fearing a return to that horrific past, she rejected any prospect of a blessed future.

But not all was lost.

There was something.

It wasn't salvation, nor was it trust, yet whenever Leona recalled those thunderous roars and purifying clouds of smoke, a miraculous blast that obliterated twenty heathens within a blink, something inside her stirred. A strength without an obvious source. What was it?

From beyond the alley, a horse’s metal hooves galloped closer.

The crawling devil plugging the alley twitched.

A knight's rock hammer slammed down onto the heathen's spherical core, which burst into bright blue guts that scattered in every direction.

Leona held out her palm. "Protectia!"

Heathen’s blood splattered onto the unseen barrier instead of coating and killing the temporary residents of the alley.

Dimitry’s eyes opened wide. "That's a hell of a reflex."

Lili curtsied. "I am in your debt, madam sorceress."

Although Leona was livid at a reckless knight and impressed by herself, she let neither emotion show. The Vogels kept their composure at all times. "Think nothing of it."

“Angelika definitely would’ve used that as an opportunity to brag,” Dimitry said. “You’re missing out.”

Leona sighed. Perhaps the Vogels weren’t as honorable as she had hoped. However, despite Angelika’s flaws, Leona could only worry about her sister’s safety. The hotheaded idiot ran off to fight heathens alone.

Hoping to get a glimpse of Angelika, Leona glanced back at the mangled crawling devil. She stood on the tips of her toes to see past the bulky core, yet the gargantuan corpse occluded her vision of west main street.

Many unseen pairs of boots marched closer. They stopped in front of the alley.

"Madam," a heavy voice much like Elze's said, "this is where the Jade Surgeon requested I lead you."

"Step back!"

"Yes, madam!" forty ladies chanted in unison.

As if completely weightless after a powerful floatia, the crawling devil slid back across the carved stone pavement and out of the alley. Holding the beast's leg was a wrinkled hand protruding from a red sleeve with gold cuffs—the robe of the guildmistress. Mira strutted closer.

Behind her, many concerned sorceresses peeked into the alley. Their concerned gazes locked onto Cedany.

Paying respect to her master, Leona knelt. "Madam."

Mira did not stop to greet anyone. Thinly veiled distress in the form of a scowl, she instead stood over the wounded sorceress. "How long does my darling have to live?"

"Assuming all goes well," Dimitry said without looking up from his patient, “she'll be fine.”

“Fine?" Mira uttered.

The sorceresses gossiped with hushed yet exuberant whispers.

"Lili, we need to prevent dehydration and electrolyte imbalance before burn shock sets in. Bring me the hypertonic saline solution we've prepared for oral rehydration therapy and the wound dressing supplies. I want Milk here as well."

"Yes, Mr. Dimitry!" The freckled girl dropped her bucket and rushed out onto the street, bowing as she passed the guildmistress.

Dimitry clicked his teeth. "What I'd do for some Ringer's lactate."

Mira's head shot back towards her sorceresses. "Bring me this Ringer and his lactate at once!"

Receiving an order they didn't know how to process, the sorceresses argued.

Leona stood equally confused.

"That's not what I meant," Dimitry said. "Let me worry about the lactate, Mira."

"Belay that order!" In a humbling display, the guildmistress crouched beside him in the filthy alley. "Jade Surgeon, if you can save this girl's life, I will have a sizable sum delivered to your cathedral before noon."

"Appreciate the offer, but I already have all the motivation I need to treat her after seeing what you guys have to put up with."

"Then consider it payment for holding the western gatehouse in my absence. Your so-called chemistry proved quite inspiring if I may say so myself."

Dimitry chuckled. "Maybe inspiring from far away. I thought I was going to die."

"Pssst!" a familiar voice hissed too loudly.

Leona glanced back.

With ruffled red-brown curls and smeared dirt beneath her eyes and across her pinchable cheeks, Angelika hopped to make herself seen amongst the crowd of combat sorceresses. "Is! Everyone! Fine?!”

Relieved to see her sister safe, Leona exhaled a deep breath. Then, upon realizing Angelika was making a fool of herself in front of everyone and the guildmistress, she pressed a finger to her lips and waved her away.

Angelika flared her nostrils and vanished from sight.

"Excuse me!" Lili shoved past the ladies while carrying a small box in her arms. The noblewoman knelt beside Dimitry, passed him a bottle of honey, and held a glass jar of clear liquid to Cedany's lips. "Madam sorceress, try to drink.”

Dimitry lathered honey onto Cedany's burns before entombing them in woven cotton sheets. He finished with the tremendous haste of practiced hands, wrapped her exposed and shivering body with assorted blankets, and beckoned someone closer by curling his finger.

The sorceresses parted when a muscular man with a scarred face and shoulders stomped into the alley. He lowered an obscure bed to the ground, laid Cedany atop, and with the help of another man, carried her away.

"Lili," Dimitry said, "go with Milk and keep a close watch on Cedany. Just like we practiced, keep an eye out for hyperchloremic metabolic acidosis and edema."

"Yes, Mr. Dimitry!"

The sorceresses hollered optimistic cheers as Dimitry’s men carried Cedany away.

"Hold strong, darling!"

As it did through all within the alley, an optimistic energy flowed through Leona. Only now could she put words to how she felt when the mass of heathens tumbled to their deaths.

It was a feeling that marked the difference between Dimitry and the Church. Unlike them, he didn’t cure ailments or defeat the heathens with secretive methods, clutching them greedily. He taught others to wield them. Leona didn’t comprehend his magics, but she did fire Zera’s Thunder, slaughter countless devils, and help save Cedany’s life. Malten’s people relied on Dimitry as he did on them, and the wall between the divine and the commoner had tumbled down. They had become one.

The merging filled Leona with hope. Hope that Malten’s people could prevent heathens from consuming the city, hope that Malten’s people could resuscitate Angelika if she ever sustained a grievous injury, and hope that normalcy would return.

After all, how could Zera’s blessing leave when all within Malten shared it?

The carbonized stench of cindered timber and linens assaulted Dimitry’s nostrils as he rushed down west main street and towards the market square. Medical bag's leather handle squeezed in his palm, he circumnavigated crawler and flier corpses and their corrosive bright blue innards, which leaked into the crevices between carved road bricks and down the front steps of damaged stone buildings.

A small group of women, half lacking red robes, accompanied him: Angelika, Leona, and the two combat sorceresses Mira temporarily entrusted to guard him. The guildmistress learned that assailants had targeted him and incinerated his field hospital. She reasoned that if they returned to kill him, Cedany would die as well.

And she was right.

The treatment Dimitry provided Cedany was a stopgap measure. Sustaining severe alkali burns that covered thirty percent of her total body surface area, the wounded sorceress would leak many liters of fluid through burnt flesh over the coming days.

Although the hypertonic saline solution she drank eased the symptoms of burn shock, without meticulous management, high sodium levels could cause hypernatremia, hyperosmolarity, and death. Deficient serum bicarbonate leading to metabolic acidosis proved equally worrisome.

Dimitry would struggle to balance electrolytes and pH buffers without pre-prepared IV fluids or blood replacements. Not to mention potential sepsis after irrigating Cedany’s wounds with unsterilized well water. Could antibacterial preservia alone curb infection? Maybe now was a good time to develop antiviral magic.

While he wracked his brain for solutions, his gaze fixated across the city—at the plumes of white smoke rising into gray clouds from beside his hospital.

Although Lili informed him that refugees had besieged the cathedral and that royal guards and watchmen stopped the assault, Dimitry could only brood over how many employees, patients, and uninvolved citizens sustained injuries in a rebellion against the 'apostle'. Were they dying without him around to provide treatment? His staff lacked the training to treat anything beyond a scratch without his guidance.

Regarding the cathedral, however, one matter concerned Dimitry more than any other.

Saphiria.

He asked her to watch over the hospital, but now he regretted the decision. What if Saphiria got hurt trying to end the panic? A single girl, even as competent as her, couldn’t defend against a rampaging horde. Unfortunately, she wasn’t someone who would retreat before fulfilling her promises.

Hoping Saphiria didn’t overdo it, Dimitry thrust his worries aside. He had to treat as many people as he could. The refugees that clustered in the market square while crawling devils crept closer and flying devils swooped overhead had the highest risk of fatal trauma.

Dimitry’s proximity to them and the potential urgency of their injuries made them the optimal candidates for resuscitation. With frantic fluttering in his gut, his pace hastened.

A pair of watchmen emerged from an alley, hauling a massive, bleeding stone leg. One dropped his cargo and knelt as Dimitry passed.

Unable to carry the stone limb alone, his co-worker teetered to the side. "Quit fucking around and help me!"

"No cussin'! Them's the apostle and the sorceresses who stopped the heathen raid."

"Horse shit. Five people can’t kill all that."

"You heard the miraculous thunder, dinchya? Besides, Lord Kuhn said so 'imself."

“Eh...”

The first watchman lowered his head to the ground, and the second followed.

Although religious praise made Dimitry feel off, like a salesman offloading malfunctioning cars onto unwitting customers at a shady dealership, he needed to expedite his plans. The sooner people accepted him as the apostle, the sooner he could bring about sweeping reforms without fear of backlash.

Among galloping horses, the shouting of emergency workers, and the reverent mumblings of kowtowing onlookers, another sound could be heard. Irritated boots pounding the stone road.

More assassins?

Dimitry's head jolted back.

A woman with frazzled blue hair bundled into a formal updo and a book pressed against her chest stomped closer. Two royal guards jogged beside her.

Leona knelt. "My Lady."

Angelika and the other sorceresses bent the knee as well.

Realizing his pursuer was the Queen's stewardess and that she probably wouldn't kill him, Dimitry exhaled a trapped breath.

Klaire caught up. She grabbed his shoulder and heaved for air. "Jade-Jade Surgeon!"

"Good morning, Klaire.”

"Do you realize what I went through when—" She glanced back at the sorceresses trailing behind them, and her voice lowered to a sharp whisper. "Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?!"

Dimitry's brows furrowed, but he soon recalled the reason for her anger. The terrified shriek that rang from a nearby gatehouse tower—it was Klaire’s. She was there to accompany Leylani so the myrmidon diplomat could witness humanity's war against heathens up close.

In his panic, Dimitry forgot about the task he assigned to the cowardly countess. “Sorry about that. The explosion was unplanned.”

"Unplanned? Unplanned?!" Lips quivering, Klaire's frown fluctuated between indignant rage and mental breakdown. "When the ground shook and scrap and dirt and whatever else flew in through the window, I thought I would die!"

"Good to see you healthy then. Where's Leylani?"

"Is that all you care for?" she hissed, struggling to keep pace with him. "What if I was hurt? Are you not a healer?!"

Dimitry didn't slow down. "You certainly seem full of energy to me."

Klaire mumbled something under her breath. "I had a trusted knight escort her to the river. She's swimming home to Waira."

"Did she say anything?"

"Aside from 'good' and 'fun' and 'home', I'm-I'm not sure. I think she was laughing when the fliers slammed into the walls and burst into bits! Those pointy teeth of hers when she smiles are terrifying. Terrifying!"

With his every facility catching fire and heathens breaching Malten's walls, Dimitry took solace in something going to plan. He seemed to have satisfied Leylani's curiosity. Hopefully, her testimony would convince the aquatic demons of humanity's merits. The fish and sulfur on their territory were integral to Malten's survival.

A group of mounted men, bantering upon their horses, cantered closer and rode alongside Dimitry.

One in a bright red cloak removed their steel helmet to reveal a teenager's face. "Lady Hoffman. The Most Reverend Jade Surgeon."

"The apostle isn't archbishop Fronika," an older knight said. "He has a different title."

"Your Wonderfulness?" another joked.

Laughing, all but one of the five men watched Dimitry as if expecting an answer.

Dimitry didn't have the luxury of worrying about titles. He had a better use for the cavalry than exchanging pleasantries. "Are you gentlemen willing to fulfill a sacred duty?"

The older knight lowered his head. "Give us the word, Bringer of Miracles."

"I need you to search the edges of the city for anyone hurt. Rich or poor, bring them to the cathedral."

A knight who watched silently until now pointed to the others. "You three search along the western walls. Schwarz and I will cover the north.”

"Yes, Lord Meier!"

The men galloped away.

Thankful that the heathen extermination earned him pull with nobles instead of scorn, Dimitry marched into the market square to focus on the most urgent task: treating patients that may have been hurt during the wall breach.

Full of abandoned stalls and refugees recovering from shock, chatter erupted from all corners of the venue.

Wrapped in a torn blanket, a man and woman hugged, exchanging whispers. They looked up and fell silent when Dimitry and his entourage passed.

A watchman, splashing water onto the blue entrails of a dead flying devil, dropped his bucket. He fell to his knees and mumbled inaudible prayers.

A rift split around Dimitry as he ventured further into the market.

Angelika, her cheeks red and head darting in every direction, huddled behind Leona.

Two pre-adolescent boys nestled beneath a collapsed stall awning. The elder's dirty hands, which divvied a small chunk of horse bread, froze. His younger companion didn't complain about not receiving his share. Both boys watched on instead, eyes gleaming.

People retreated to form a path even as hundreds stumbled in from adjacent streets. However, despite the rising population density—over a thousand civilians and disenfranchised refugees—the atmosphere grew quieter. So quiet that one could hear the rustling of cotton fabric amongst interspersed murmurs.

Gazes brimming with hope, they all watched Dimitry.