Stella could scarcely believe what she was seeing. Instead of being cut in half by the strange man, he only cut the magical chains that detained her.

  Those were chains enchanted with the finest reinforcement spells in the cult’s arsenal. Something that even she, a powerful spellcaster, would have struggled to dispel in a second.

  Yet the man swung his rapier once, and she was free. She quickly found herself in his arms as he checked her injuries, staining his black gloves with her blood, before she felt the cold embrace of a healing potion’s contents spilling down her throat.

  “Stay still, miss,” the young man said, his tone still cold, but with a slight hint of urgency and concern. “I’m not sure if this is enough, but it should hopefully stitch you back together for now.”

  W-what is this?

  Stella’s eyes widened as she felt the cool sensation spreading throughout her body. She felt her wounds literally closing in seconds, bones and torn muscles reattaching to each other.

  As the [Saint], such healing power was in the realm of her abilities. But it was something that wasn’t easily replicated by even the most powerful healer mages out there, and even she would struggle to do it without having full mana reserves.

  So it only meant one thing. The potion he was using on her must be one of a kind. A legendary item, perhaps?

  When he was done, she coughed, tears still coming out of her eyes as the young man rested her back on the wall. She felt his fingers checking her pulse before he pulled back.

  “...J-just,” she managed to speak at last, though it was more of a weak squeak to herself than anything. “W-who are you?”

  While he may not be the Death God, he might still be a demon or whatever other creature came from hell. After all, what kind of creature could casually do what he just did in front of her? A massacre of that scale was only possible if he was a demon of some sort.

  But if he were a demon, he wouldn’t be treating her with such gentleness and care…right?

  Stella was thus quite confused. She wanted to feel at ease at being saved from the edge of death, but her more paranoid side was ringing alarm bells everywhere.

  What is he? Is he human? P-please tell me he is…

  “I believe the better question right now is—are you feeling better now?” The young man asked, his eyes still neutral. “Most people die from the injuries you suffered.”

  “I, ugh…um…I-I—”

  “Alright, take deep breaths then. Calm yourself first,” the young man said, standing up and going for one of the tables nearby. “I do have a question. You’re not one of these loonies, are you?”

  He picked up a waterskin, opened it, and gave it a quick whiff before tossing it at Stella. Naturally, she caught it. There was water in it.

  “I…I’m not,” she answered, still trying to recover from shock.

  “Good. You can speak clearly now.”

  “A-apologies for the shameful display earlier.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s natural.”

  “Still—”

  “Less speaking, more drinking. You still look like shit.”

  Her cheeks flushed at his blunt words.

  Stella tried to resist the allure of fresh water because it came from those cultists, but after all she endured, her parched throat demanded reprieve.

  She drank all of the waterskin’s contents in seconds.

  “The name’s Captain Marcus Lieberman, by the way,” the young man said, seemingly in another attempt to calm her down. So he was a soldier then. “I’m a member of the Holy Astrean Army. Judging by your clothes, you must be a [Paladin] of sorts from the Holy Church, aren’t you? No need to answer; I’m just blabbering to myself.”

  He was now collecting books and records from the tables and desks around them, reading each one of them silently with his eyes. When Stella didn’t answer, he stopped, his grey eyes turning to her and narrowing.

  H-Holy Astrean Army? You mean, he’s from the Holy Astrean Empire?!

  That country, an empire that stretched across the continent, had been nothing but a part of history books for ages now. How can a soldier of a bygone era find himself in front of Stella?

  “Hey,” Marcus now seemed concerned again. “What’s with that look? Got a problem? Spit it out.”

  “S-sir Marcus—”

  “No need for ‘sir’. Marcus is good enough. Go on.”

  “Are you really a soldier of the Holy Astrean Empire?”

  “I’m quite sure this uniform makes it clear. Ah…they must have updated it, no? It’s been twenty years already, give or take, so it will be surprising if they didn’t…”

  Stella remained silent as Marcus stopped what he was doing and crouched close to her, waiting for her answer.

  “I’m not going to force you to speak up if it’s too hard to say,” Marcus said, his tone now a bit cautious. “But, you’ve gone pale, miss. I still have another potion if you need one—”

  “Your country!” she suddenly blurted out loud. “It’s…uhm…”

  “What of them?”

  She stopped, unsure how to proceed, feeling her cheeks reddening at her shameful performance. She couldn’t even speak straight now.

  She was the damned [Saint]! She needed to act like it!

  She bit her teeth to gather her courage before giving him the bad news.

  “Sir, your country’s been gone for three hundred years now.”

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  Then, it was the powerful man’s turn to go pale.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  If this was a joke, it was a bad one.

  He had already interrogated the elven woman earlier. Everything, from what happened to the demon horde and the glorious expedition down to what happened to the Empire.

  She answered his questions quickly.

  The elf named Stella seemed like a nice person. The kind ones who usually get in trouble for other people and possibly die in the process. He’d seen and interacted with a lot of her type back in the underworld.

  He thus easily squeezed out answers from her, including the fact that she was a princess who gained the [Saint] class, a powerful class only granted by the goddess, the deity worshipped by the Holy Church. It was said that only one person could wield it at a time.

  He also found out that she was sent alone against a literal battalion’s worth of cultists in a ‘training mission’, leading to her current predicament.

  Remembering how the [Saints] of the past were treated—especially those unwanted by the church—that immediately pointed to a lot of nasty business. That was bad already, but realizing that he really was four hundred years into the future left him somewhat despondent.

  Not that he dared show a hint of it. The elf lady was already quite worried as it is. He didn’t want to make things worse by showing that her savior was having a mental breakdown.

  “I need a plan,” Marcus grumbled to himself as he got to work at looting the dead cultists. “Based on the intel I retrieved from them, I have a lot of cleanup duty ahead of me.”

  If they revive the Death God, everything we did will be for nothing. I’m not letting my comrades’ sacrifices go in vain because of a bunch of loonies.

  Looting them was tedious work, as this cavern was filled to the brim with information and items, both legendary and common ones. Considering that he was now four hundred years into the future, according to Stella, he was quite broke.

  He thus needed everything valuable that he could easily sell. Whether it be potions, reagents, or whatever crap those mage people liked, or amulets, rings, and other wearable artifacts that provided stat bonuses, he grabbed them and placed them in his spare bags of holding.

  He had a simple system. If it looked like it would fetch money, or if it was useful, it was his. Warfare was waged using considerable resources, and he was probably going to wage warfare again.

  He briefly stopped, sighing.

  I guess my planned retirement is ruined. Damn it.

  The bags of holding themselves should also be quite valuable, as he looted them from the Death God’s cursed castle, but considering their utility, he wouldn’t easily part ways with them.

  Instead, he just greedily filled them up with the cultists’ goodies.

  “Sir Marcus,” Stella finally spoke up from behind as he greedily hogged the loot like a goblin would. “Do you need help?”

  “I said you can call me Marcus. It’s a bit grating to hear ‘sir’. And sure, help yourself out. If what you said is true, you fought them too, so you can have your share of the loot. What do you think about a fifty-fifty split?”

  “Good sir, I’m not just the [Saint]! I told you that I’m also the fourth princess of the Kingdom of Sordale, did I not? I do not loot my enemies like a common soldier.”

  “Is that so? Well, if you want to help out, then maybe go take a look outside and see if there are any more of the bastards. I don’t want to look at my back while I’m stealing their stash.”

  Not that there’s anyone outside. I already checked with [Mass Surveillance], but she could use some fresh air.

  “I…I see…alright.”

  Seemingly defeated, the elf made her way out of the section of the cave used by the cultists for the ritual. Marcus, on the other hand, greedily went straight for the cult’s treasure chest and began stuffing gold and gems into his bags of holding.

  When he was done, he followed the saint out of the cave. It was a pretty short passageway outside, and there was still some equipment and furniture outside of the main ritual room, but there wasn’t much else for him to use.

  When he got out, he squinted as the sun’s light assaulted his eyes.

  Been a while since I saw you. He internally laughed at the sun. You’re as hot as I remembered. Shit, I probably look like a vampire now. Is that why she’s so scared of me even after I saved her?

  After all, while he may not have aged since he entered the underworld, it still caused some physical changes.

  “You killed them all, Sir Marcus,” Stella reported, walking straight to Marcus, her poise and mannerism now more dignified. “I’ve spotted no survivors.”

  I said she shouldn’t use ‘sir’ on me.

  He grumbled and cringed at that, but at this point, he gave up. She was royalty, so formalities like this ran through her blood. That was impossible to change.

  “That’s good to hear,” Marcus replied, grabbing the map he retrieved from the cultists’ base and unfurling it. “Please point out to me where we are on this map.”

  She looked at Marcus’ map, narrowing her eyes a bit, before pointing at a town on the map.

  “We’re in the forest east of this town,” she explained. “That town, however, was wiped out by the skeleton army of that necromancer earlier.”

  “Are those white bones around us the remains of that skeleton army?”

  “Yes. They must have all collapsed when you killed the necromancer…”

  “I see. And do you know anything about this ‘Almarche’ town nearby?”

  Stella raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you planning to go there, Sir Marcus?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was attacked recently by the Death God Cult. I don’t know much more than that.”

  “I’ve checked the cult’s records. They are currently conducting business with multiple unnamed individuals in that town. I have reason to believe that the local lord is involved.”

  Marcus folded the map.

  Under the provisions of the Imperial Wartime Decree, he may be a collaborator of the demon horde and the Death God.

  Just like those cultists he executed earlier.

  “I’ll be brief. What’s your plan?” Marcus asked. “After what you said earlier, I don’t recommend that you return to the Holy Church.”

  She’s most likely sent against that [Necromancer] to be disposed of. Those bastards, they don’t change, do they?

  “It still doesn’t make any sense…” Stella looked down. “You must be…exaggerating.”

  “You can decide on your own with the information you have.”

  She looked down. Marcus noticed that she was holding back tears before steeling herself into a smile.

  “Sir Marcus, if you’re going to Almarche, I’ll need to go there too before I can continue on my way back to the Holy Church. I believe I can guide you there until then. It’s the least I can do after you saved me.”

  That’s the face of someone without a plan trying to act tough. Better teach her another lesson on why she shouldn’t act so rashly just for appearances.

  “I do need a guide, yes.”

  “Then I’ll gladly accompany you!”

  “Do you have any long-range fast transportation skills to keep up with me?”

  “I…ugh, what?”

  “I’ll take that as a no. Don’t scream, okay?”

  “S-Sir Marcus, what are you? Wait, I’m not mentally prepared yet—!”

  Marcus didn’t want to waste any more time, so he picked her up with a princess carry, leading to the elf’s face turning beet red. He ignored it before activating his skill.

  [Blink Step].

  [Blink Step].

  [Blink Step].

  With her in his arms, the two teleported hundreds of meters forward each time he activated the spell, blinking through the forest with the speed of sound.

  Against his wishes, Stella the Ashen Saint screamed until the two arrived at Almarche’s outskirts.