But Anne knew she couldn't fight him. She was just a support cleric—one without a single offensive skill to her name.
So instead of resisting, she dropped to her knees before him, her forehead pressed against the blood-soaked ground.
"Forgive me! Forgive us! I'll do anything, so please... don't kill me!"
She didn't know who the man was or where he had come from, but one thing was clear—he wielded dark mana.
It was so thick, so oppressive, she could see it with her bare eyes, swirling in the air like a living shadow.
The malevolent energy had already swallowed half the village, making it hard to even breathe.
"Oh... you're a smart one," Claude said, a cold smirk stretching across his lips. "But you'll regret asking to live."
Anne's eyes widened in horror as dark tendrils burst from the ground, slithering around her limbs.
The tentacles seized her wrists and ankles, binding her tightly before silencing her with a thick coil that covered her mouth.
Her muffled scream echoed briefly before vanishing into the crackling air.
"A good soul to fuel my kingdom," Claude murmured, though his gaze shifted as the distant cries of anguish tore through the ruined silence.
Aurelia's voice rang out—piercing, desperate.
"RHYS! DON'T DIE!!! YOU PROMISED ME!"
She was clutching the bloodied body of the holy man, her hands trembling as she held him close. His eyes were shut, unresponsive, his robes soaked in blood.
Beside her knelt her mother, watching the scene unfold with an expression carved from sorrow.
Moments earlier, Vulture had reported sensing multiple people with holy affinity approaching the village.
He had chosen to observe from a distance. And then, amidst the chaos of battle, he'd spotted a little witch fleeing to the hill—her face unmistakably familiar, a mirror image of Aubree's.
So he immediately report it to Claude.
But it was too late by the time Claude and Aubree came to the heart of the village, it was already too late.
He clicked his tongue, surveying the carnage. "I thought I was the worst this world had to offer," he muttered.
"But it seems the holy ones are just as damned as I am."
He approached the dying man—Rhys—and crouched down beside him, noting the faint spark of life still flickering within.
Dragging the still-bound Anne over to Rhys's side, Claude ordered, "Heal him."
Anne nodded, tears streaming down her face as she pressed her trembling hands to Rhys's chest.
A soft golden light flared between her fingers, and the smallest of wounds began to close. But the deeper injuries remained untouched.
"I... I don't have enough mana," she confessed through sobs. "And I'm not strong enough... I already healed so many..."
Claude shrugged. "A shame. But at least he'll be awake enough to say goodbye."
A slap landed on his arm. Aubree.
"Do something more! I know how powerful your mana is. You can save him!"
Claude narrowed his eyes. "Didn't you say this was the priest who hunted you and your daughter not long ago?"
"I know!" she snapped. "But he saved Aurelia. He shielded her with his own body. So do something!"
Claude groaned, annoyed but not unmoved. "There's only one way. But I'm not sure he'll survive it."
He crouched again beside Rhys and gave his cheek a light slap—enough to rouse him. Aurelia shrieked and grabbed Claude's wrist.
"What are you doing?!"
"Trying to keep him alive, obviously," Claude muttered.
As Rhys stirred, his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze landed on Aurelia, and a weak smile formed on his lips.
"You... you're alright?"
"Yes! So please, stay with me!" she sobbed, holding him tighter.
Rhys exhaled in relief, then turned to Claude, his voice hoarse. "Take care of her..."
But Claude simply raised a brow. "Nah. Anyway—" his tone shifted sharply, "do you want to live, Rhys?"
Rhys chuckled weakly. "Anne's too drained to save me. And you… you're a daemon. You can't heal me."
"Oh, you're clever," Claude replied, smirking. "And refreshingly nonjudgmental. I like that."
"No, Rhys! He can help! Just listen to him!"
Aurelia cried out as she glared at Claude who wasted their time, impatience and desperation rising in her voice.
Claude ignored the glare she threw his way. "So? Do you want to become a daemon?"
It was the only viable solution Keira had suggested. No medicine or doctor in this world could save Rhys now.
Except if they teleported to nearby town and asked the priest to heal him which was impossible since it would start a war.
Of course, it came with its own cost... and only a 20% chance of survival.
Claude wasn't about to say that part.
Anne and Aurelia both gasped at the proposition, but Rhys only widened his eyes in disbelief before a broken laugh escaped him.
"You must be joking," he said. "You don't become a daemon. You're born one."
"No," Claude said, voice sharp and serious. "That's not what I asked. I asked if you want to become one."
Rhys fell silent. A coughing fit wracked his body, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth.
"Can it really save him?" she asked, clutching him tightly, her voice shaking with hope and fear.
"Of course," Claude answered.
"I can heal him. And I've got healer who can help too. So tell me, Rhys. What's your choice?"
Rhys's gaze flickered between the daemon and the girl sobbing in his arms. Aurelia looked at him with those wide, tear-filled eyes, desperation plain on her face.
"Please... let me repay you for saving me. You promised to live. Don't break it."
Rhys closed his eyes. A deep silence fell, broken only by the rising wind and distant rumble of thunder.
"You're cruel," he said at last, voice barely audible.
Claude's grin widened. "And you still have a choice. I won't force it on you."
The moment stretched endlessly.
Then, as if nature itself responded, the sky turned black. A heartbeat later, the clouds split open, and the rain came down in torrents—drenching the blood-soaked earth in a curtain of sorrow.