LTTH C48

Chapter 48

Peter was startled when Hansol suddenly sagged against him, and in a panic he caught him by the waist.

“Saint!”

Peter’s voice rang like an echo through the silent building, yet no answer came. All he could feel was Hansol’s strength ebbing away in his arms.

‘Ah… O God!’

Was this what it felt like for the world itself to collapse? Peter’s vision went white as he clutched the frail body to his chest.

“Saint! Saint…!”

Surely not. It could not be. It must not be.

How many times did he cry out in terror before the steady sound of breathing reached him from within his embrace? With a ragged sigh, Peter collapsed to the floor.

“Haa…”

The moment Hansol’s body went limp in his arms, Peter felt as though his very soul were leaving him. Where it might have gone was perhaps the Styx, the river where the dead were said to gather. Had Hansol’s breath not reached his ears again, Peter’s soul might never have returned. It was no exaggeration—it was truth.

His salvation. Their hope.

Not merely a healer, nor merely a hunter. None of those embellishments could contain who the Saint truly was.

“Saint, you must not leave us.”

Be it to Korea, to the afterlife—it mattered not. The hope he had finally beheld with his own eyes could not be let go.

Peter, still holding Hansol close, carried him carefully up to a room on the second floor. Even his footsteps were hushed, for fear that the sleeping Saint might stir.

He laid Hansol gently upon a white bed, checked his pulse again and again to ensure life remained, and only then withdrew, stepping backward out of the room. He closed the door silently and sank to the floor outside. His legs had given way—not only from exhaustion, but because he could not bring himself to return home.

This building was one of the few in the village warded by Kassie’s magic. Even so, who could say? Reckless fools might yet dare to intrude.

‘Though any who laid a hand upon the Saint would not live long.’

The hunters who had been with them in the sanctuary, Isaac, Kassie, even Rachel—they would all descend like arrows upon any who tried, leaving not even scraps behind.

And yet Peter must stand guard. There were always fools in this world.

Thus, seated before the door like a sentry on night watch, Peter waited with every nerve alert. Time passed—though not much—before his concentration was broken by an unexpected voice.

“Peter! Peter! Where are you?”

“…Kassie-nim?”

‘But Kassie-nim went to lead the people to the shelter, did he not?’

Yet there was no mistaking it: Kassie’s voice called from the first floor of the house.

“The second floor, is it? I am coming up.”

A moment later Kassie appeared before him—flying. Not as a figure of speech, but in truth. Suspended in the air, robe billowing like the very symbol of a mage, Kassie descended lightly, a glowing blue magic circle beneath his feet. To see such a spell used so casually—the boundless world of magic astounded Peter anew. But he straightened quickly, standing at attention.

‘…What business brings him here?’

He revered Kassie, hailed as a genius of the century, yet could not help but wonder. Surely there were still unpurified Infected at the shelter, and leading them was Kassie’s charge. For him to abandon that task to come here seemed unthinkable.

“Has something happened, sir?”

“Something? Of course. More than something. Where is Hansol?”

“The Saint is resting inside.”

Perplexed by Kassie’s urgency, Peter pointed to the firmly shut door behind him. Beyond it, Kassie’s keen ears caught the sound of even breathing.

“…Ah.”

Kassie’s expression wavered, as if torn between waking Hansol and letting him sleep. Peter’s confusion deepened. After all, Hansol had collapsed from pouring out endless purifications. The sensible thing was to let him rest. Surely Kassie felt the same. And yet—something in his demeanor was strange.

“It would be best if you looked outside, Peter.”

“Outside?”

Peter glanced out the window along the corridor but saw nothing out of place. Tilting his head, he followed Kassie’s gesture toward the building’s exterior.

“You must see it from outside.”

“But then, the Saint…”

“Do you doubt my magic? Have you forgotten who cast the wards upon this building?”

At Peter’s hesitant words, Kassie’s tone sharpened, his face hardening in offense.

‘…I have blundered.’

Peter immediately straightened, cold sweat trickling down his back. Kassie, after all, was said to be beyond even dukes in the realm of magic. To question him had been a grave error. Cursing his own foolishness, Peter followed as Kassie stepped outside.

And when he emerged and beheld the building where Hansol lay—he understood at once.

“What in the world…”

“That is precisely what I would ask. What has Hansol done?”

“…I cannot say.”

Peter’s voice fell to a whisper. He could not tear his gaze away.

What could he even call this? A holy edifice? A white—no, a golden cathedral? His poor vocabulary could not capture it.

The plain wooden house of mere hours ago had become a structure of marble, bathed in a gentle golden light. Above it hovered a radiant sphere of white and gold, shining in glory.

Even the ground around it glowed faintly, exuding a sacred aura. Against the ordinary reality of the village, it was as though something of another world had descended.

“What… what is happening?”

“That is what I would like to know. Hansol did not use some other skill, did he?”

“None at all.”

From beginning to end, Peter had seen Hansol use nothing but purification. Sometimes upon one, sometimes two or three, but never anything else. He had been at Hansol’s side constantly. This could not be the effect of his skill.

“This feeling… it is similar to the sanctuary Hansol once created.”

“The sanctuary…?”

Peter strained to sense what Kassie spoke of, but felt nothing.

“The mana—no, the very texture of it, perhaps. In any case, it feels alike. Though the sanctuary was far denser.”

“……”

Kassie continued with a long, intricate explanation, but Peter could not follow. He was no mage, only an ordinary man, far from the genius Kassie was.

‘…Still, I do feel a little better somehow.’

Perhaps it was only the placebo effect, but the joints that had long ached seemed strangely eased. Peter gave a small nod to himself.

Kassie watched him briefly, then turned his gaze outward. A few nearby houses too seemed touched by the sacred light, though faintly. Not nearly as radiant as Hansol’s dwelling—one had to look with piercing focus to notice. But Kassie’s eyes saw it clearly.

“It is not only this building. Others are glowing faintly as well.”

“…Truly?”

To Peter’s eyes they seemed unchanged, still plain wooden houses. But Kassie’s senses were keen, attuned to the flows of magic.

“This will require investigation, Peter.”

At Kassie’s grave look, Peter bowed his head. It was a command—he was to carry it out. He jotted notes as Kassie pointed to the affected homes, swallowing his dismay.

“…Yes, understood.”

‘I had wished to stay by the Saint’s side…’

He had abandoned even his family to come rushing here. But perhaps that desire was too selfish.

“This much will suffice,” Kassie concluded.

Peter bowed briefly and turned toward the first house Kassie had indicated. There were only about ten in all—few enough, it seemed, to finish quickly. He forced himself to take heart.

He would complete it before the Saint awoke. That was a vow he made silently to himself.