LTTH C37

Chapter 37

What in the world was the situation? Was this campsite simply a gathering of those half-turned into zombies like before? Half in worry and half in anticipation, Hansol reluctantly closed his weary eyes.

Moments later, he opened them to find a scene far more tranquil than he had braced for.

Peaceful. That was his immediate impression.

As the sun began to set gently, people meandered here and there with an atmosphere utterly unlike that of mere moments before—when life and death had been balanced precariously against the onslaught of monsters. The crackling campfires lent a calm warmth to the place.

Could this truly be Britain? Doubt gnawed at him, and unable to step forward confidently, Hansol trailed behind the youth leading him. In the distance, an armored knight came into view, waving a hand in greeting.

Indeed, a classic knight—except for the notable absence of a helmet—appearing exactly as a knight should.

“Hey there, Peter! Another hard day, huh? Still no word from the Saint today?”

The lively words made Hansol flinch involuntarily. Damn it. It seemed his title here had wholly settled as ‘Saint.’

‘Is it too late to correct them now?’

A small sigh escaped him as he embraced the uncomfortable weight of the epithet. Peter, the youth called thus, grinned playfully and closed in on Hansol’s side.

“You’re on scouting duty today, Saint. As for him…”

“What’s that vague answer? Are you teasing me?”

“Well, I think we should visit the Duke first.”

“What does that mean?”

The knight’s head tilted, sensing something amiss in the mischievous tone, and soon he noticed a shadow hiding behind the youth.

“…!”

The shifty youth ducked behind quickly upon eye contact, but it was clear he had been noticed. Peter’s eyes darted nervously, lips parting and closing nervously.

“No way. The Saint…?”

“What? Who said that?”

“Who’s the one calling out ‘Saint’?”

“Is this just an auditory hallucination?”

Though Peter’s mutter was barely more than a whisper, his words echoed as though through a megaphone, stirring a sudden clamor all around. Soon, pandemonium erupted with people rushing about wildly in every direction.

“I told you not to be surprised, Saint,” Peter said cheerfully amid the chaos, stepping aside with a pure smile. He seemed to mutter something, but the clamorous chorus drowned out his words.

Within moments, the crowd encircling them thudded and clamored like startled illusions. Their gazes were fixed on Hansol as if beholding a fantastical creature. This was unlike that fateful day of gate breaks, and different even from his initial arrival in Britain.

There were those dressed plainly, others half-armed, some hobbling on crutches, or clutching arms swathed in makeshift cloths. Each bore distinct appearances, yet one feeling radiated from them all.

Joy. Surprise. Warm welcome.

A loud gulp drew attention, and silence sank swiftly. Hansol felt a rush of emotion stir fiercely, and he quietly steadied his voice. To let it waver risked breaking into disgraceful sound.

And, for reasons unknown, he felt compelled to speak softly.

“…I have returned.”

Though the voice barely rose above a whisper, ill-fitted to the moment, none cared. Fearing it might vanish were he to close his eyes, those around kept their gazes fixed wide upon him, whispering mutterings akin to soliloquy.

“Good heavens. Truly, the Saint…”

“Hey, someone hit me. This can’t be a dream?”

“Can I hit him with my sword?”

“No, it’s real. It is really him.”

“Don’t close your eyes, just in case it’s a mirage.”

“Gods above! There really is a god!”

Such thoughts and actions before a living man made Hansol dizzy. Were they alright?

“…Are you all well?”

“Of course. They will regain their senses soon.”

Hansol addressed the youth, the only one seemingly composed, but the gentle reply gave him little comfort.

He scanned his surroundings carefully. Unlike the immediate aftermath of battle, many still bore bandages or fresh wounds. Among them, one youth caught his eye.

Limping on crutches, favoring one leg, he bore a striking resemblance to Peter. Their eyes met, and the youth approached with evident urgency, moving awkwardly.

“Saint…”

“Wait a moment.”

“Heal.”

Before the youth could finish, Hansol’s lips moved instinctively.

Was it instinct? He could not hear the words spoken, but the youth’s tearful eyes and clenched jaw spoke volumes.

Without thought, Hansol reached out and cast the skill. A familiar white glow briefly veiled the man’s body before vanishing. At that instant, the man collapsed to the ground.

“……!”

“What?!”

He had not anticipated this!

“Are you alright?!”

Was this a side effect of leveling up? Or some consequence of the master skill?

Panicked, Hansol hastily cast Purification again and again, then knelt before the youth. Never before had healing harmed its recipient, but this was England. Nothing could be ruled out.

Reaching to check the youth’s condition, he heard whispered thanks amid soft sobbing.

Ah. It was merely that his legs had given way.

‘Ha. You gave me quite a scare.’

Hansol let out a quiet breath of relief and rose. Just as he moved to begin treating others, a familiar silhouette appeared amid the gathering crowd as if parting like the Red Sea.

Tousled golden hair and deep blue eyes—no longer harsh, but filled with gentle surprise and gladness—looked upon Hansol.

“Healer…”

“…Hello.”

“You have returned.”

A word so brief yet enough to make Hansol feel as if he had come home. He bowed slightly, hiding a curious mixture of emotions. It was only their second meeting, but such warmth felt remarkable.

“You were faster than I expected.”

The quiet smile from Isaac stopped Hansol mid-sentence as the system window flickered briefly before his eyes.

Quest Complete.

Experience gained.

Level increased.

Level increased.

Reward: Skill Enhancement Stone obtained.

Startled, Hansol turned his gaze to Peter. The quest concerned only this youth, so the reward reflected that alone. He wondered why the quest was not completed upon their first meeting.

‘Does the system have delays?’

Distracted, he closed the reward window with a click of his tongue.

Skill Enhancement Stone.

Can be used to strengthen skills.

What had he expected? The monotony of the message quickly quelled his excitement.

“Recall those outside, and send Kassie back as well.”

“Yes, understood.”

“No, Kassie will know already. He’ll return on his own.”

As Isaac nodded enthusiastically, a familiar face looked his way and offered a slight bow—a man who had once begged Hansol to save a semi-corpse in Britain. The man named Peril.

Yet the man who had lost an arm then now stood fully healed with both arms.

‘All those whose lives clung to them survived.’

Peter’s words rang true. Sanctuary had restored lost limbs and healing to injuries. Hansol gazed intently at Peril’s arms.

Could this truly be called regeneration?

Peril’s arms bore scars countless and large, as if worn in battlefield toil for decades. Peter’s arms shared the same marks.

This was not simple regeneration.

‘Restoration might be the better term.’