Wandering Knight-Chapter 355: The Path of Redemption

"Hey—give me your hand. Don't you dare faint now. Save yourself."

A dwarf stretched out a calloused hand to the man half-buried beneath the rubble of a collapsed building. His companions waited behind him.

"My waist... It hurts..."

The unlucky victim had been pinned for hours. Only the wolf-keen senses of their druid had found him at all; no one else had guessed there was a survivor beneath this ruin.

Most of the townsfolk were too busy fleeing or mourning, and there were too few Nightfall faithful who had volunteered for the rescue operation.

Even among those nearby, though many answered the call of the Prayer Network, others simply turned away. Not everyone had kindness to spare.

"It doesn't hurt," the dwarf said with a crooked grin, splashing liquor across the man's face. "How could it? Your lower half's over there."

He pointed at the charred woodland. There, entombed in magma, lay a corpse: legs intact, upper body gone.

"Wha—?!"

The reek of spirits and the shock of the dwarf's words jarred the half-conscious man awake with a strangled cry. That was the chance they needed.

With a heave, the dwarf's two companions, a warrior and a druid in the form of a bear, pried up the slab pinning him, revealing mangled flesh that was ruined but not beyond hope.

"I—I..."

He tried to speak, but the dwarf rammed a vial between his lips. Bitter potion burned all the way down his throat. With it came blinding pain as his mangled limbs were forced back alive.

As the victim keened in agony, the dwarf nodded, satisfied, and took a big swig from his flask. If he could still scream, he would live. People in this world were made of hardy stock. If a man could survive for so long despite being trapped under such immense weight, chances were he'd keep breathing.

Then, the sky transformed. Clouds shimmering softly in gold began to gather. Raindrops of pure radiance fell, dissolving on contact, leaving only healing warmth in their wake.

This was the miracle of the Goddess of Wealth: the Golden Rain of Renewal. Its strength, coverage, and potency all depended on the sum of the wealth sacrificed to Aelini.

This rain, composed of donations and other funds scraped together by the Church of Light and the Church of Nightfall, was only enough to cover half the stricken area and pull any half-dead victims back from the brim.

Beyond its reach, the priests of the Church of Light invoked their own gifts. Gentle chants wove through the air; pale motes settled on wounds and chests, glowing as they mended what flesh they could.

They had triggered the God of Light's divine spell, Sanctuary, whose power and duration depended on the number of faithful praying and the depth of their devotion.

"Thank you—thank you! Without you, my mother and brother would have been lost."

The young knight-in-training who had been lost to despair now clutched his family as he watched color return to their faces. He bowed deeply to the devout of the Church of Nightfall who had found them.

"Think nothing of it. The Scripture of Night teaches us to aid another when you have the strength to do so. This is a tithe we are more than willing to pay for the blessings of shadow and silence."

The man who had saved them waved their gratitude aside. The boons that the Church of Nightfall's gifts granted its followers were more than worth a few good deeds, and he was a true believer in charitable living regardless.

"Sorry... Did you say that you're not a devotee of the God of Light, nor of the Goddess of Wealth?"

The knight-in-training's brow furrowed. He had assumed only their devout could wield such aid.

"No." The man smiled. "I serve the Lady of Night. Many here do. If you wish, you may join us. Here—take this."

He drew a slim, worn copy of the Scripture of the Night from his pack and pressed it into the youth's hands.

In addition to its original contents, the copy contained in the back margins the devotee's own scrawled notes on the Prayer Network, the Midnight Library, and the Void Chatroom, the scattered tools of faith that bound their order.

In the aftermath of the disaster, the divine spells of the Lady of the Night were nowhere to be seen. Even so, the Prayer Network and even the Midnight Library played critical roles in providing aid to the victims of the clash.

This was part of the unique nature of the Church of Nightfall. She had provided her devotees with the tools with which they could support each other, even without any divine aid from herself.

"Um..."

The youth flipped through the worn scripture. Gratitude kindled something deeper—something perilously close to faith.

Meanwhile, Wang Yu hosted a few unusual visitors. Opposite him lounged a woman of disarming beauty, her bare shoulders gleaming like ivory, her figure lush and dangerous. Beside her was a man in a tailored suit, sharp and composed. Above the woman's head fluttered a rather chubby blood-bat, its wings flicking in restless circles.

Wang Yu arched a brow. He conjured a thread of blood from a fingertip and spun it into the form of a tiny dragon. It coiled, snapped, and bit him playfully. With a flick, he popped it in a spray of crimson mist.

The woman's ruby-red eyes widened with intrigue. Her tongue traced the corner of her lips as she plucked the dazed bat from the air and kneaded it idly in her silk-gloved hands.

"My, Archbishop," she purred, voice velvet, fangs glinting. "I did not expect the Church of Nightfall's archbishop to be human. No wonder your blood tempts me so."

She let the bat flop away, one finger stroking along the edge of her fang. Her hunger and interest in Wang Yu was plainly evident.

"Well..." Wang Yu waved her off. "I don't believe I've heard either of your names."

He had been somewhat interested in the vampire lady's blood-bat, so he had attempted to come up with a construct of his own.

But the miniature blood dragon he had come up with had been a result of his Chariot and Blood Tempest, working in tandem. In other words, when he played with his little dragon, he was basically playing with himself. It felt a little foolish, come to think of it.

"Ah—my apologies." She covered her lips in mock surprise. "I am Lilith."

"Call me Wolfe," said the suited man. Neither gave a surname. Some things were best withheld.

"As for this matter," Wang Yu said, letting his gaze rest briefly on the vampire, "I don't have any objections to the Church of Nightfall working with your kind, so long as the blood clans restrain their appetites."

Lilith, really? Wang Yu was surprised that sharing a name with the ancestral vampire of legend hadn't gotten her cursed—but then again, the progenitor of the vampires in the mythos of this world seemed to have a different name.

"Of course," Lilith answered smoothly. "Given our station, we do not stoop to such crude indulgence. Even the werewolf beside me no longer loses himself to the moon."

She leaned forward, eyes glimmering. "Still, Archbishop, your blood is intoxicating. Might I taste it someday?"

At this point, Wang Yu wouldn't be surprised if his blood was of interest to all vampires alike.

"Let's deal with business first," Wang Yu replied dryly. "If you can keep your kind in check, joining the Church of Nightfall won't be a problem. The faith demands little.

"As for positions, no formal ones are available, but there are those who can wield more of the Night's power. For your people, who are already associated with the night, I don't see why not."

Wang Yu didn't bother dwelling on the matter of blood. If they wanted a taste, so be it—so long as they refrained from drawing on his higher-energy blood, and so long as he himself didn't do anything, it was likely they could drink from him without exploding from his blood.

What truly mattered was not their thirst, but the reason they had sought him out in the first place. They had learned through obscure channels that he was the Archbishop of the Church of Nightfall, and had come to negotiate terms of cooperation between their kind, the Nightborn, and his faith.

After receiving word, Wang Yu had consulted the Lady of the Night herself. From her, he had learned that these two were none other than the lords of the Nightborns within Skyborne City—so he had come to meet them in person.

"I am pleased by your understanding," Lilith said, inclining her head with a gracious smile. "But though we can fully restrain ourselves, Archbishop, and even a portion of the stronger Nightborn besides, there are still those among us who have not yet matured. They cannot master their instincts. I cannot claim to hold them in check at all times."

"Then those who cannot control themselves need not join," Wang Yu replied easily.

To him, the matter was simple. Lesser vampires and werewolves were ruled by their appetites and liable to harm others. They were of no use to the Church of Nightfall. It was better to cast them aside.

"But they are still our kin," Lilith countered, a note of steel entering her voice. "Permit me a touch of selfishness on this point, Archbishop. Besides, surely you must realize that you and I stand as equals in matters of faith.

Her tone shifted sharply as her eyes gleamed. Dark power stirred in her hands—the divinity of the night.

"Indeed," she continued, "we Nightborn are far more suited to this faith than mortals ever could be. We are more readily blessed by the night. Should that not give you pause, before deciding the terms of our alliance... and of our entry into your Church?"

Lilith cared more for the advancement of her kind than for the safety of other races. Her display of divine power was a warning: she and her kin were no mere supplicants.

The respect she had shown Wang Yu—the formal address and courtesy—was nothing more than politeness.

She wanted to leave him well aware of the fact that his rank as Archbishop rested on borrowed favor, a title gained in the Church's infancy. The Nightborn were the true heirs to the Lady's blessing.

If he was willing to cooperate, they would allow him to keep the name and trappings of his office. If not—well, once their grip on divine power grew stronger, it would be a simple matter to unseat him.

Her companion, Wolfe, unleashed his own aura as well. The divinity of the night gleamed in his hands, a predatory might radiating from his frame. It was clear he felt the same way as Lilith herself.

Both of them were high-ranking Nightborn, either legends or mere steps below it. Their auras pressed down on Wang Yu, still just a grand knight, like a storm.

In other churches, such as that of the God of War, where strength alone decided one's authority, such a display might well have sufficed. But this was the Church of Nightfall.

"Believe if you wish. If not, then get out."

"Be a devotee if you so wish. Otherwise, get out."

Wang Yu's reply was curt and dismissive. He rose, unbowed by their oppressive auras, and turned to leave. Had he known this was the "cooperation" they would propose, he would never have wasted his time here.

Behind him, Lilith and Wolfe froze in shock. The divinity in their hands guttered out and vanished. Their link to the Tree of the Night had been severed—cut cleanly, as though by an unseen blade.

After all, he had absolute authority over the space in which the Tree of the Night dwelled. He could ban any user at will.