"This must be a miracle—"
That frail figure, unbeknownst to all, had already taken her stand at the forefront, her posture becoming a symbol of hope and faith for the entire tribe.
Unconsciously, everyone began to refer to this once obscure and weak girl as—
"She is a miracle bestowed upon us by the heavens! She is the hope of humankind!"
All cheered, casting their trust and reverence towards the Dawn Sword in front of them that seemed to slice through all despair.
While everyone gazed upon her figure, the Priest could only bow his head in silence.
Can a strength exchanged for life and futures, endless suffering, and contortions still be called a miracle?
"He really didn't transform into a demon, this is simply a miracle—"
Amid the astonished cries, the Priest opened his eyes and slowly sat up.
People around him, their faces filled with joy, yet unable to hide their profound fatigue and worry.
Unlike the sacrifices, believers, and priests of other city-states and tribes, he worships no concrete deity nor serves Magic Creatures as gods, nor does he have a clear symbol of faith.
Others speculate that perhaps he believes in justice, fairness, or abstract concepts like Holy Light,
But the truth is, he simply holds the pure and sincere hope to improve the lives of his fellow people in this land.
As long as he can achieve this, what he believes in actually doesn't matter.
Yet in this land infested by war and Great Demons, such an ideology is an anomaly.
However, by virtue of his genuine, overwhelmingly Holy power, he earned the tribe's recognition and joined this handful of groups that dare to counter the Great Demon.
How many years have passed since then?
Over the years, he has healed countless humankind and even Magic Creatures, snatching who knows how many lives on the verge of death from the grasp of Death itself—including the Hero who now leads them all, who had once received his aid.
And now, under the leadership of the Hero, they have come to the final showdown with the Great Demon.
This is an event that the tribes, once trembling under the shadow of death years ago, would never dare to imagine.
Though this decisive battle is a desperate last stand, to everyone involved, reaching this point is already an incredible miracle.
"Hah, 'miracle,'" he's lost track of how many times he's heard such praise, to the point where his ears could almost form calluses from it, and the devout thanks that came with it have long become a routine part of his life, even numbing him.
But he has never created any miracles.
He cannot restore twisted souls, cannot revive shattered dead, cannot remove the pollution of Depravity...
The Priest slightly bowed his head, gazing at his own body that was no longer Humanoid, covered with layered Runes, and neck locked with a Collar meant to suppress Pollution, but the Enchantment on the collar now seemed overwhelmed, flickering under the encroaching force.
His life was ebbing away; this lucidity, too, was but a Flickering Candle in the Wind, ready to be completely twisted and fall into Depravity at any moment under the Great Demon's pollution.
Sheer will and faith have their limits, unable to overcome the might of the Great Demon. And what about miracles?
In the sky, the Hero shattered the dark clouds with a single sword strike, the dimming sunset light spilled through the opening, casting light onto the battlefield, while the Great Demon's Anger could be heard from afar.
The Priest turned his head, looking towards another part of the battlefield—where the Martial Princess, after a whole day of fierce fighting amidst the endless Arcane Surge, was still wielding her Long Blade sharply, her Posture unscathed, as if the infinite Magic Creatures failed to break through her sword.
He looked again towards another side, where the tribe's Mage, who should have exhausted their Magic Power, kept on chanting; their Spell Chant remained accurate, tirelessly releasing powerful spells to repel the Arcane Surge again and again.
These warriors' existence, along with the light from the Hero above, were like an ever-raised banner, inspiring all beings still holding their ground on the battlefield.
Yet her body was already drained of Strength, progressively becoming Undead, only directing her killing intent towards the twisted Degenerators.
They had already squeezed dry their Vitality, willingly undergoing Lichification, using their Souls as fuel to carry on their chanting.
Could this also be called a miracle?
So trivial in achievement, so fraught with hardships, so nonexistent in reality—
Do you still call it that?
"She's still alive, that's enough. Because a miracle is something that brings Hope to people."
"...Is that what you think? Well, not bad."
[Requirement judgment five: Miracle]
Recalling the distant past, the Priest, driving his Mutant demon body, broke his silence with a soft laugh.
"Those who can still fight, follow me to the front." He stood up, his expression calm.
Fervent cries surged, in the face of that Fearless Battle Intent, even the Degenerators hesitated briefly.
The aged man stood before the still-endless Arcane Surge, becoming yet another raised banner, even the Depraved Power corrupting his body now seemed to submit to him, turning into a force of Counterattack.
The Priest, known by the name of Miracle, with a resolute expression, stepped forward once more towards the battlefield.
[Requirement judgment six]
1. Prayer for Victory♛
3. Holy Divine Embrace
9. Hope (once a day, re-roll on Extreme Failure)