LTTH C52

Chapter 52

“This will be difficult. Kassie, what do you think?”

“Phew… it’s not working at all.”

In the village that had already turned into a battlefield, Isaac—who had been taking command—asked Kassie, yet the answer he received was far from promising. At the sight of their doubtful expressions, Hansol bit down hard on his lips.

“It seems to have magic resistance. And quite a high one at that.”

No matter how many spells Kassie fired at it, the thing floating in the sky did not so much as flinch. It remained upright and unmoving, firmly holding its place. In other words, Kassie’s magic was having no effect whatsoever.

One might have thought that Isaac could try something, but the reality was not so simple. Isaac was a swordsman. More specifically, both tank and swordsman—but still a close-combat fighter. And a close-combat fighter like him naturally had even fewer options to strike a foe suspended in the air than Kassie did.

“For now, let’s deal with the ones outside while we think. That thing doesn’t look like it’s coming down anytime soon.”

“Then I’ll lend my aid there first!”

As the two began moving swiftly, Hansol’s own thoughts began to race. What should I use first? Which skill would be of the most help to them?

His gaze swept over the crowded skill window, where new skills he had recently learned gleamed brightly. Then one, in particular, caught his eye. Blessing.

The Tower Lord had once praised it to the skies, saying it could raise one’s combat ability by a factor of one-point-five.

“Blessing!”

If that claim was true, it would at least buy them time. Hansol quickly cast Blessing on Kassie and Isaac first, then upon the surrounding hunters one after another. A golden radiance brushed against each of their bodies, and in their eyes appeared system windows declaring their stats had risen by nearly one and a half times.

It was only natural that the astonished gazes of Kassie, Isaac, and the others turned upon Hansol.

“Hansol… what is this?”

“Healer—no, you are….”

Their golden-tinged eyes rested upon him, but Hansol merely answered with the briefest of nods. The hunters’ piercing stares weighed upon him too, but that was not important right now. What mattered was whether these buffed comrades could defeat that arrogant creature above—or not. Hansol prayed it would be the former.

“Do you think it’s possible?”

His dark eyes fixed upon the lofty foe suspended in midair, bearing the smallest seed of hope. Kassie and Isaac followed his gaze, their eyes likewise settling upon the enemy.

“Let’s try. After all, we have Hansol.”

“Giving up doesn’t suit me. And besides… you’re here.”

At the sound of such unwavering trust, Hansol clenched his fists tight. He wanted to save them all. Perhaps it was arrogant, but he did not want to lose a single soul in this place.

“Saint!”

“…Peter?”

Peter? But I heard he was far too busy…

Hansol tilted his head in confusion at the sight of Peter sprinting toward him, face pale as death. Had Kassie not just said he was too occupied to spare even a moment?

What was stranger still was that the ones truly in need of support were not within the village but along the outer boundary. Monsters swarmed outside the Sanctuary. True, they could not set foot inside it, but even so, those masses of creatures could not simply be left unchecked.

“Peter, what is it?”

Even when Peter, running like a streak of light, hurled himself forward to shield Hansol with his body, that thought still lingered in Hansol’s mind. Why? Why here? The outside is far more dangerous.

With confusion came a chilling sense of déjà vu. When he had first arrived in Britain, something similar had happened. Back then, it had been Isaac’s arms around him as he came to, the acrid stench of smoke filling his nostrils and sounds of chaos filling his ears. But now? He was perfectly fine. And yet, the overpowering scent of blood clung to his nose.

“Khff—”

“Peter…?”

His hands, pressed against Peter’s back, grew wet, sticky, coated with something viscous that spread across his palm. For a moment, Hansol could not comprehend what had just happened.

“Healer!”

“Hansol!”

The sight of the two rushing toward him, the sound of Peter’s ragged breathing, and the warmth running down his arm finally snapped him back to reality.

Peter had taken the wound for him. From whom? How? Hansol could not even begin to consider. All he could manage was to choke down his trembling voice and ask after Peter’s state.

“Peter… are you all right?”

“Hhk— I-I am… all right… hff.”

That voice, muffled as though smothering pain, seeped into Hansol’s ears. His throat constricted, moisture pressing at the corners of his eyes, and he bit down hard upon the inside of his mouth to keep from breaking.

Why? Why would you do this?

Countless questions and reproaches surged within, but not a single syllable left his lips. All he could do was press his hands against the gushing wound, forcing out every healing skill he knew.

Heal, Light of Recovery, Prayer of Healing—every single one. Yet no matter how many spells he poured into Peter, the blood beneath his hands did not lessen. If anything, it grew thicker, warmer, more unrelenting.

Why?! Why isn’t it working?!

Even at low levels, healers’ skills had always produced some effect. Whether fully curing or only partially alleviating the wound, never once had his magic done absolutely nothing. Without that truth, he would never have been able to enter a gate as a level-one healer.

“Purification! Regeneration!”

Surely, some response. As long as breath remained, healer’s magic should sustain life. It was one of the system’s immutable laws. So Hansol cast, again and again, every skill he could muster, refusing to stop. His mana drained as if poured into a bottomless vessel, but still he pressed on.

Yet Peter’s state remained unchanged. Only his strained breaths and the spreading wetness beneath Hansol’s palms grew heavier.

No… no, this can’t be happening…!

As Peter’s weight bore down upon him, Hansol trembled from head to toe—not from the physical strain, but from the terror of watching life slip away in his arms. From the guilt of failing to save him. From a storm of emotions beyond expression. And in the end, those feelings spilled from his eyes in hot streams.

“Kassie… what do I do? Hhhk—Peter, Peter is…!”

“Hansol, this place is too exposed. We must move him.”

“Kassie, take him!”

The two who had rushed over lifted both Hansol and Peter together, yet Hansol refused to release his grip on Peter’s bloodied clothes. He clung to them as if they were a lifeline, terrified that letting go meant losing Peter forever.

Blood trailed in dark drops across their path, mingled with Hansol’s own tears as he wiped his eyes against the coarse fabric in his grasp. At the same time, he scoured his skill window with desperate eyes.

Surely among the skills he had purchased from the shop there must be an answer. There had to be. Otherwise, this system was far too cruel.

Eliminating options that were clearly irrelevant—summons, holy water—left only two: Sacrifice and Resurrection.

Hansol, heart pounding with desperate hope, opened their descriptions.

Sacrifice Lv.1

Consumes the user’s health to heal a chosen target.

Resurrection Lv.1

Consumes the user’s health and divine power to heal a chosen target.

Damn it, damn this wretched system!

As ever, the system was mercilessly unkind.