Calix’s eyelids slid down, and his frail body with only skin and bones fell. Damia saw a thin stream of blood running down from the dagger stuck around his neck.
She was relieved she hadn’t drawn her blade. The embedded dagger was blocking the bleeding, so there was a possibility of survival if emergency measures were taken quickly.
‘However… … Can it be?’
Damia heard that a paladin who had accumulated some training could heal minor wounds. However, the people in front of her didn’t seem to care much about the well-being of the dying Calix.
Instead, they were blatantly hostile to Damia. It was clear that the intention was to let the Saint die and use his death to gain political advantage by pursuing Damia as the criminal and number one public enemy.
‘So it will be of no use for me to claim my innocence.’
Damia didn’t waste her time trying to clarify the situation. Instead, she raised her voice and asked for help with all her might:
Even though they had promised to meet one-on-one, Calix hid the paladins, and Damia had also called her allies in case of an emergency.
Since both sides scammed each other, there was neither a perpetrator nor a victim. So, without hesitation, Damia drew her card to counter the hand that Calix threw.
The stained glass in the prayer room shattered with a clamorous bluster. And a large-sized man protruding from the broken glass stood up.
Akkard, who looked around slowly like a white lion, revealed his teeth and smiled:
“Oye, don’t you know the royal palace is my turf.”
But how dare they point swords at the woman he likes in his domain! He could feel his depraved blood, which had been hibernating, now boiling and rushing through his veins.
Akkard smiled like a demon and drew his sword. Then, utilizing his last thread of reason before going berserk, he whispered to Damia,
“Close your eyes, Damia.”
Because it seems like I can’t control myself at all.
The other day, a diplomat from the eastern continent told him he had “a constitution overflowing with yang*.” Maybe he was right. [*t1v: the closest thing to this in eng is masculinity/ heat/ testosterone etc.]
Harboring a fierce and terrible desire for only Damia and not releasing it for a long time, the energy now ironically resembled intense violence.
Akkard hoped Damia wouldn’t see him go crazy. But he seemed to have a hard time suppressing his murderous intentions towards these dogs of the temple, who pointed their swords at her.
Fortunately, someone appeared one step later and distracted Damia’s attention. Damia was deeply relieved at the sight of the golden hair poking through the destroyed stained glass window.
“Lessid… … !!”
Approaching, Lessid was silently shocked. He found Calix on the floor, bleeding.
On top of that, Akkard was running amok like an unleashed fighting dog, beating the paladins. Lessid, witnessing all this, regained his senses and realized what he had to do.
“Please step aside for a moment, Damia.”
Lessid rushed to the Saint and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a very effective healing potion that was as expensive as gold of the same weight.
Once he opened Calix’s mouth and poured half of it in, the blood returned to his dying face. After that, Lessid took out his handkerchief and paused to pour the potion on it.
‘Ah, Damia made this for me.’
He didn’t want to get dirty. A ridiculous concern that made him hesitate during this critical time.
However, due to the circumstances, he had no choice but to pour the red potion on the white handkerchief and press it to Calix’s neck.
The potion made by a high priest was outstandingly effective. The wound quickly started to heal.
After checking, Lessid grabbed the handle of the slender dagger stuck in his neck and carefully began pulling it out.
As he slowly pulled it out, he returned his soaked handkerchief to the injury to heal it. Then, after confirming several times, he pulled out the dagger, and blood poured out.
He grasped the handkerchief tightly against Calix’s neck to stop the bleeding and sighed in relief.
Although the handkerchief he cherished like a treasure was messed up with blood and potion, he couldn’t help it. If the Saint died here, the situation would be too unfavorable.
Still, he felt lucky he somehow managed to save him. Lessid could feel the Saint’s pulse beating under his handkerchief.
‘It seems he’s getting the situation under control over there too.’
It was the moment when Lessid was preoccupied by the battle between Akkard and the Paladins. Then, suddenly, Damia’s breathtaking scream broke out–
Before he could react, he felt the shock of being walloped in the shoulder. And he immediately felt a hot pain piercing his flesh.
Someone stabbed him in the shoulder with an empty candlestick. Lessid fell backwards, looking up to find his opponent.
‘… … Saint?’
No, of course, it couldn’t be because the Saint was now lying down, barely alive.
But the similar dark hair, blue eyes, and cold facial features caused him to be mistaken for a moment. Lessid shook his head, checked his opponent’s face properly, and clenched his jaw.
“… … Cesare.”