"Ahaha... hello, Archbishop sir."
With that warm, kind gaze fixed on him, Tyre let out a dry laugh. The pressure he felt at that moment was immense—an invisible weight radiated from the old man, growing heavier and heavier, until it felt like a mountain was collapsing on him. He could hardly breathe, convinced he’d be crushed to death at any second.
Under that suffocating aura, Tyre had the chilling sense that this old man could see right through him, like every secret was laid bare—even if he didn’t have much worth hiding.
"Oh, young outsider, are you alright?"
Suddenly, Archbishop Mark retracted all the pressure. He looked like a gentle, kindly grandfather, smiling with eyes full of compassion.
Tyre was drenched in cold sweat. His face twitched slightly. “I’m fine, just great. If I weren’t tied up , I’d be even better.”
"Insolent fool! Where are your manners?!"
Phoenix was outraged by Tyre’s lack of respect—this thieving, shameless wretch had the nerve to speak to the archbishop like that? Gritting his teeth, Phoenix rolled his shoulders, ready to teach the brat a lesson.
Seeing the incoming “lesson in love,” Tyre twisted and flailed in his ropes like a worm.
"That’s enough, Phoenix. He’s clean."
"Sister Maria, I’ll leave the wounded to you. Your prayers ease their pain more than most blessings.”
Mark turned toward Maria, who gave a soft nod. The wounded were enduring unbearable agony, and the solar pantheon’s divine magic alone couldn’t soothe them.
Maria’s gentle voice, devoid of divine power, had the strange effect of easing pain. Was it faith? Or something else? Even the wise Archbishop couldn’t say—he could only chalk it up to the will of the gods.
"The [Radiant One] will shelter the wounded."
She traced a cross on her forehead and quietly stepped deeper into the cathedral. Her graceful movements stirred a faint twitch of the archbishop’s brow. He smiled helplessly.
What a devout nun of the [Radiant One].
Thoughts of Maria flickered through the old man’s mind. He then turned to Phoenix and spoke in a lowered voice, unaware Maria had caught part of their conversation as she walked away.
"Root of Man… the attacks…"
As a [Sette Parish] conscript, Maria was merely [Apprentice]-rank and held no formal status. Yet through outstanding tactical skill and unshakable character, she earned genuine respect during her half-month of service.
The tithe-collecting squad had long since disbanded.
The mission went well—mostly.
Just as Pastor Lynn warned, the world beyond Sette was shifting from peace to unrest. Strange beings and horrors appeared in regions where order no longer held sway.
These monsters—who once feared light and [First Flame]—had grown bold enough to attack squads protected by ordained clergy. That had never happened before.
Maria’s own group was ambushed. Only her calm leadership turned the tide. Without her, the greenhorns in that squad would’ve suffered devastating losses.
The power of the [True Gods] was fading.
No one knew what had happened to the gods. But ever since the Harvest Festival, their strength had plummeted—so drastically that even the authority of their clerics was no longer stable.
Priests and ritualists didn’t understand what was going on. The Church was completely in the dark. This world had many brilliant minds, but shackled by tradition, they didn’t dare voice the unthinkable.
The [Root of Man] was the most obvious proof.
"Don’t worry. You’ll pull through."
She gripped the hand of a wounded warrior, his shoulder swathed in bandages. He’d likely been infected by the [Root of Man] during the last fight.
His tense muscles and twisted expression made it clear—he was in agony.
"Thank you… Miss Maria. I’ll hang in there. I’ll fight it."
Hearing her voice, the man forced a smile. It was all he could offer as he clung to his sanity.
For anyone below [Silver]-rank, infection by the [Root of Man] meant constant willpower checks. Every hour, their mind was tested. Fail, and the root would eat their humanity—until it burst from their body like a parasite.
There was no true cure. The solar priests could only delay its spread. Try to purge it by force, and they’d kill the host in the process.
With no proper solution, the Church could only buy time—bleeding themselves dry trying to create a miracle spell to safely cleanse it.
Maria could only offer her prayers.
She wasn’t truly a priestess of the [Radiant Church]. Just someone who had studied their ways and adopted their conduct. She had no class, no divine power. People called her “Sister” only because she acted like one—kind, resolute, a symbol of peace.
Her prayers weren’t to any god.
They were simply for him.
‘There’s nothing I can do…’
Maria’s hand remained in his grip, her heart heavy.
Even in the [Embers of Ash] update, there was still no guaranteed cure. Only after the fall of the solar gods—when divine power was redistributed and new forces rose—did sorceries emerge that could safely end the root.
That storyline was one of the major arcs.
But that was far from now.
It wasn’t something she could face alone. Not yet.
One person’s strength would never be enough.