Footsteps echoed across the well lit halls as the blue haired man walked by. His golden eyes were filled with an inexplicable joy, and he kept scratching his thigh, as if unable to contain his excitement. Skipping every two steps, God’s Apostle Niantal proceeded through the passage.

The empty passage felt lonely as the winds howled through it. Niantal paid it no heed as he went further down the hallway. At the end of the path, there was a door.

It looked like it was made of stone. People would surely mistake it for a tablet of sorts if it hadn’t been for the finely wrought golden handles on them.

Niantal pushed lightly against the doors, pushing it open as he simultaneously walked inside.

He entered a huge room which gave off the feeling of a cathedral, with high ceilings and benches arranged in rows. At the end of the room was a raised podium, with a marble white railing separating it from the lower area.

Niantal walked across the aisle, heading towards a figure that stood leaning on the podium. He could make out a bound book in the silhouette’s hand, but Niantal had already figured out the identity of the person, just based on his pristine white clothes embroidered with red and gold. After all, only one person was allowed to wear it.

“Revered Prophet”

The playful Niantal’s smile vanished, replaced by a serious look. He went down on one knee and bowed his head down before the person.

The sound of the book snapping shut echoed throughout the room. But Niantal did not move an inch. With faint steps, the figure moved into the light coming from the stained glass above, emerging from the shadows that hid his face.

It revealed a face of magnificent yet terrible beauty. His hair was like moonlight, almost faintly glowing in the light. His perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones would make him a person that women would die for. But all that was ruined by his eyes.

Pitch black.

His eyes seemed like they were composed of darkness, sucking in every inch of light around. It gave off a feeling of an endless depth, one that would consume and corrupt another’s soul. His eyes were like that of a dead fish’s. It betrayed no emotion, and no one could guess what was going on in his mind.

“Niantal… Why are you here?” A faint voice carried itself over to Niantal’s ears. It was faint enough for none to hear it, but the voice was something that Niantal could perfectly hear. It inculcated in him a feeling of dread. But also a feeling of reverence.

“I left to save the hero Itsuki. The demons were attac-“Niantal attempted to explain, but his reply was cut short by the voice.” You really know how to justify yourself. I ordered you to attack the Demon continent. Why are you still here?”

His voice carried a hint of irritation now, and even Niantal couldn’t help but wince at it. After all, he is the Revered Prophet, the messenger of the gods.

“Yes my lord. I will leave immediately” Niantal complied, his voice quavering slightly. The man nodded and walked back, almost disappearing into the shadows.

The moment Niantal felt the presence disappear; he heaved a sigh, relieved. His happy expression was long gone, and he stood up, his legs shaking slightly. Facing the Prophet always made Niantal nervous. He was like an alien existence. One that he could never hope to even touch.

Should I have left the hero to die?

No. Of course not. Niantal immediately recognized that fact. The heroes were an integral part in their plan, an important pawn. The only reason the revered Prophet did not punish him was because he saved him.

Niantal shuddered as he wondered what would have happened had he failed to save the hero.

He slumped on to the wooden bench, stretching his legs out as he did so. Niantal sighed, thinking about the long journey before him. He had to travel all the way to the Demon Continent, catching up to the armada too. Even with the Wind God’s [Fly] and [Wind Rush], it’ll take him at least a couple days to cross the Rixon Sea, give or take a few hours if he travelled without rest.

I’d have to use up a few of my Sanctus Trieste to do it… It took me quite a lot to deal that damage on Altrock..

Niantal smiled, his lips stretching from ear to ear as he remembered General Zeltris’s reaction when he heard about Altrock’s defeat at his hands. The Church had already begun developing—planning its ascension to the top of the Arialis—as soon as it was formed. The Church’s main weakness was its inferior strength. But with the arrival of the Prophet, it was not so anymore.

Demon’s continent huh… I can have a bit of fun there too, I guess.

Scriled sucked in a huge mouthful of air as he woke up, gasping and coughing as he did so. His mind was whirling around; his vision did not make sense to him. He waved his hands about, the events of the recent battle still fresh in his mind. He felt some hands trying to restrain him, but the panic he felt overpowered it. He pushed them away with all his strength, scrambling to his feet as he did so.

He could hear voices; some yelping while the others were trying to say something.

The whirlwind which was his mind was slowly settling down, and he could make sense of some of the things that was being spoken. But before that, he noticed something.

A sense of incompletion. A nagging feeling that he lost something.

Tentatively, he flexed his fingers, but it still left him feeling that something was wrong. He tenderly raised his left arm, bringing it towards his right, clasping over the arm.

My god… My arm… He thought as his fingers closed over the empty space where his arm should have been. He didn’t know what to say. For a second, he just felt an unbearable sense of emptiness. He stood there, his arm grasping the stump which was his right arm. His dominant arm.

Slowly, Scriled finally began understanding the incoherent noises in the background. Realizing his mistake, he took a deep breath, averting the panic attack that was imminent. He looked towards the group, his sight now regaining its clarity. A small group of people stood there, wearing long white robes-the Knight’s healers. They all had anxious looks on their faces, their arms raised in defense.

Perhaps my waking up was quite shocking to them.

Scriled straightened up from his slightly crouched position, and the healers visibly relaxed. A person wearing a hood-the head healer- stepped forward, his thin legs visibly trembling underneath the white robe as he stepped closer to Scriled.

“No need to be so scared Head healer. That aside, what happened?” Scriled decided to question him, hoping that he could inform him about what happened while he was out.

The head healer took a deep breath and began speaking “Thanks to your assistance, the warrior was killed, preventing Naiva’s death by his hands. The other knights quickly rushed in from the battle after they won, and the archer quickly sniped the noble. The mission is over.”

“Over? Huh. So I was out of it most of the time.” Scriled laughed weakly, his right shoulder feeling quite numb as he did so. He frowned as he tried to move it. But he could barely feel that part, much less move it. Noticing his trouble, the head healer immediately spoke up “We used some of the pain killing concoctions on the wound, so your right shoulder might feel quite numb. Please do not move around too much”

“Where’s Naiva?” Scriled nodded as he asked him. The Head healer pointed towards a tent. Scriled thanked him as he left. He kept trying to rotate his shoulder, trying to get some blood in to his shoulder. It was heavily damaged, and the magical herbs would most probably repair the skin.

But complete repair is impossible. After all, it costs too much to repair a single arm of mine, and even if I worked for a decade, I would get nowhere near the amount I actually needed. Still, losing an arm huh. Well, it could have been worse.

Scriled thought to himself as he walked towards the tent. His head still felt quite light headed due to the extreme loss of blood. But the healers had done an excellent job. He might have died if it hadn’t been for them.

As he neared the camp, he could make out a group of people standing near a tree. Curious, he walked towards the group. They were obviously the knights that came with him. The chainmail they wore and the familiar figures assured him of that.

As he got closer, he could see that they were all standing around in a semicircle, looking at something in between them. He craned his neck to see what was going on, but to no avail.

One of the knights, a young lad with bright yellow hair noticed him, and his face immediately switched from a grim nature to a smile. He waved towards Scriled, smiling happily “Captain Scriled! Are you well?”

“Ah yeah. I’m alright” Scriled weakly raised his hand as he replied. The group notice this conversation and turn towards him, and everyone immediately begins to congratulate him. He felt quite embarrassed, but he knew that he can’t just shy away because of this. Several of them clapped him on his back as he made his way through the crowd.

At the forefront of the spectators stood Naiva. Her face was filled with worry as she looked towards the tree. Curious, Scriled diverted his eyes to where she was looking.

A boy laid at the foot of the tree, a boy who looked young. His body had the tiniest bit of muscle on it, but the pale face and the sunken eyes were enough for Scriled to guess that he hadn’t eaten for days. But what caught his attention the most was his face.

Heok! The Demon Lord’s descendant? That black hair… There are less than a few with such hair. And the only kid among them is…

Scriled confirmed his suspicions as he stood next to Naiva. No wonder she was worried. She was at a dilemma. Should she kill him? Of course, it’s easy to just kill him and be on their way, but even Naiva had enough of a conscience to reconsider before killing a child.

Naiva noticed his presence and turned her concerned eyes towards him. She was at a loss, that even Scriled could see.

Well, I’m glad to see that all these years didn’t make her a killing machine..

Sighing, Scriled raised his arm to pat her on the back. But he quickly remembered the loss. He looked quite troubled by it, and Naiva chuckled seeing it.

“Looks like you got a makeover” Naiva commented, the worry in her eyes lessening a bit,

“Sort of. How do I look?” Scriled joked, lifting his numb stump as he did so. Naiva laughed again, her tired voice gaining a bit more strength.

“Anyways, thank you for what you did for me back then Scri. I might have…” Naiva started, but Scriled cut short, interrupting her gratitude. “What’s the situation?”

Naiva lightly smiled, and explained “Obviously, he might be the Demon Lord’s … descendant. I just don’t know whether we should…” Her voice trailed off as she turned her eyes back to the child.

A voice spoke up from the crowd, and both of them turned to look at the source. The brawny man had a hint of arrogance in his voice as he spoke “I keep telling you, of course we should kill him Captain. It’s the Demon lord’s spawn!” Murmurs of agreement sprang up from the crowd, further troubling Naiva.

Jeez…

“Are you sure about that? Just kill a kid because of his parent? Then would you be fine if we killed your child Braun?” Scriled sharply questioned him, his face serious. Naiva looked at him gratefully, almost making Scriled chuckle. The man stuttered, unable to answer.

But another voice shot forward again. “Who cares if we kill the Demon lord’s spawn! It’s a monster, and we should kill him. Isn’t it that simple?” The scrawny man argued, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Scriled.

Sigh… Chunkien. He always had a thing against me…

“So what do you propose Chunkien? We just kill him? After all, even you know that we, the humans created him just to use him as a war tool. And now you’ll just dispose of him? Despicable” Scriled said, turning to face Chunkien. The man cowered before his domineering presence. After all, Scriled isn’t someone people can just go against.

But other voices of protest were popping up. More and more audible than the others.

This is bad. Maybe I shouldn’t have intervened. I’m from another unit altogether.

“Enough!” Naiva exclaimed, her fists shaking. “Scriled is right. We can’t just kill a kid. Our mission was to kill Klaus Venturus and anyone who gets in our way. I don’t think our mission included killing random civilians?”

“But Captain…” as a voice emerged, Naiva glared at the source. “If you have any complaints, duel me. You win, you become the captain and you can do as you wish! Otherwise, you listen to my orders. You are forbidden from talking about this after this. If I catch wind of any one of you blabbing…”

At this, there were no more protests. Naiva walked off, sighing.

“We won’t take care of the kid. We’re just not killing him. Let’s head to Bridle” She sighed, sounding even more tired than before.

Hm. Saving him is more than what she can do anyways. She has done everything within her power to give him a chance. Naiva hasn’t changed… But…”

Scriled turned to look at the kid, and the face of his daughter flashed before his eyes. Quite vividly, he still remembered how she looked as he saw her for the last time in ages.

I wonder how she looks now…

Filled with a strange sense of melancholy, Scriled spoke up. “Wait”

Naiva turned, her eyes quite curious as she looked towards Scriled.

“I’m bringing him to Bridle with me. I’ll vouch for the kid. Just until Bridle, Naiva. Please?” He almost begged her, startling Naiva. She was about to protest, before she hesitated again. She thought for awhile, and then responded “Fine… You won’t let me say no anyways… But only till Bridle. We’ll be leaving back to Gureis after that, and no matter what you say, I won’t let you bring him there” She firmly said, half sighing as she spoke.

“Ou~!” Scriled responded cheerfully, and then immediately turned towards the boy.

Now then, let’s get you some food.

AUTHOR!!

Yallo! Nexus here!

Happy news! The Scriled parts are over! Back to Nexus from next chap!

Since it's gonna be from Nexus's POV from next chap, I met with a dilemma

First person POV with Nexus like before, or the new third person limited POV I'm using with Scriled for Nexus?

Feels kinda weird to refer to myself like that lol...