"Tap, tap, tap~"
Light, cheerful footsteps pulled him out of his dream.
He raised his head. Outside the window, the blazing sun hung high, pouring golden sunlight inside and shining onto the witcher's eyelids.
He instinctively narrowed his eyes and activated his other senses, catching the fresh daisy fragrance from his dream—mm, and food as well: freshly baked bread, strawberry jam, and heated milk.
The witcher jolted awake and saw the busy figure by the table.
Her shoulders were beautiful, the line of her neck smooth. Her skin was snow-white, yet carried a healthy rosy glow from recent activity, brimming with vigorous vitality.
The coarse gray cotton priestly robe looked better on her than even the most exquisitely decorated court gown—it was the beauty of youthful vitality.
Lysa!
Realizing who the person by the table was, the witcher felt inexplicably a little guilty.
"Allen, you're awake," Lysa seemed to sense his gaze and turned to meet his eyes. "This morning's breakfast is white bread with strawberry jam and milk. The jam was just made at the temple not long ago, and the milk was milked from nearby farmers this morning—"
The young priestess smiled brightly, even more radiant than the morning sun. Her tone was so familiar, as if he had always stayed at the Temple of Melitele and had never left.
On her face, Allen could not see the slightest hint of awkwardness, as though the incident before his last departure had never happened.
"Uh… yes, hello, Lysa," the witcher couldn't be that carefree. His voice was a bit stiff as he greeted her, subconsciously taking the slice of white bread evenly spread with strawberry jam. "Mm, thank you, Lysa."
"You're welcome." Lysa licked clean the red strawberry jam that had accidentally gotten on her pale fingertips, then waved her hand. "The Arch-Priestess said you're very interested in the changes among the temple priests, so she sent me to tell you about it."
"Uh… mm." The witcher withdrew his gaze from her fingers and took a bite of the bread. The sweet-and-tart, soft texture melted instantly in his mouth.
After swallowing, he immediately straightened and nodded seriously. "I really am interested. You seem very different from a few months ago."
"Indeed, we are different." Lysa nodded and handed him another slice of bread spread with jam. It seemed she had already prepared what to say and spoke without hesitation. "The number of divine arts has increased, the categories have increased, and their power has increased as well."
"I don't know what Granny Ianna and Nenneke were like in the past, but at least at the stage of an acolyte priest, when one has just been acknowledged by the Goddess Melitele, it's impossible to learn any divine arts."
"Only after becoming a full priest would one be granted a divine art called Minor Healing, and another called Malice Detection. And most of the time, the temple doesn't allow them to be used."
The witcher swallowed another piece of bread, and Lysa promptly followed up with the next.
Talking about serious matters, the inexplicable awkwardness the witcher felt faded a great deal.
"Not allowed to use them?" he asked.
"Yes." Lysa was about to spread jam on another slice of bread, but when Allen waved to indicate he didn't need more, she picked up the steaming milk from the table and handed it to him. "Actually, it's not just Minor Healing. In fact, full priests can also learn Sleep Prayer and Disease Resistance."
"But Granny Ianna doesn't allow us to use any divine arts—especially not to display them in front of outsiders, particularly ordinary people."
"I thought only healing-type divine arts were forbidden," Allen said, downing the hot milk in one gulp, letting the rich milky aroma fill his mouth. "Granny Ianna once told me that the healing divine arts of the Temple of Melitele all draw upon the target's life force."
"You prefer using herbs and ordinary medicine—non-supernatural, non-magical methods—to treat patients."
"That's correct." Lysa agreed with Allen's understanding. "Actually, before the banishment of the evil god, and even before the disasters brought by the May—by the Wild Hunt during the May Festival, the temple had always been quite resistant to divine arts. Apart from specialized divine-art priests, and those priests who had just learned divine arts and trained a bit out of curiosity—"
"The vast majority of priests spent much more time on medicine, herbalism, and prayer."
Allen: "But now it's different."
"Yes, now it's different." Lysa nodded. "In the past, we might not even train divine arts once a week. Not long after the banishment of the evil god, it changed from training three times a week to training every day."
"And now, as soon as an acolyte priest is acknowledged by the Goddess Melitele, they're granted Minor Healing. They must also master an offensive divine art called Holy Fire, and a defensive divine art called Sanctuary—"
"As for full priests, in addition to Sleep Prayer, Disease Resistance, and Malice Detection, they must also learn Healing Word, which has a stronger healing effect, as well as Blessing of Strength and Protection from Evil—"
As she spoke, Lysa softly murmured a few words.
"Humm~"
The wolf medallion hummed.
A ray of golden light, as if refined from sunlight itself, enveloped Lysa. Golden, glowing patterns were etched onto her gray cotton robe.
In an instant, she looked solemn and sacred.
"Oh~" Allen exclaimed in admiration, examining those unique patterns. A shy flush appeared on Lysa's face.
He got up from the bed, his right hand moving from the silver sword Elsa to the hilt of the steel sword Balmur.
The divine sword Balmur was of course more dangerous than Elsa, but after spending so much time together, Allen knew that as long as it wasn't "excited," it was just an ordinary steel sword.
"Is this okay?" Allen asked tentatively, looking at Lysa.
"Of course." Lysa took a deep breath, spread her hands, and closed her eyes, striking a pose as if ready to heroically sacrifice herself. "I'm ready—"
'It's not that dangerous… 'Allen thought.
"Clang—"
The steel sword left its scabbard. Just as he expected, the divine sword Balmur remained completely unmoved, seemingly very disdainful of Lysa's level of strength.
Allen didn't swing with force right away. Instead, he gently poked at the hem of Lysa's robe first.
The sharp sword tip landed on the soft fabric, producing the sound of metal striking metal. Gaining some confidence, Allen then brought down a slash with the strength of an ordinary human knight.
"Clang!"
The patterns on the cotton robe immediately lit up, firmly blocking the strike.
After several more attacks with varying degrees of force, the golden patterns quickly dimmed.
"Bang!"
After the final strike, the golden light shattered instantly, erupting into a powerful shockwave that pushed the witcher back. But he merely turned his body out of habit and steadily withstood the impact.
Honestly speaking, that shockwave was already quite impressive. For something she had only learned recently, it was comparable to a level 4 Quen Sign.
Moreover, he had swung a total of six times just now. The weakest strike carried at least the strength of a human knight, while the strongest even reached the level of an ordinary witcher. On any battlefield, this would provide excellent survivability.
At the instant the divine shield shattered, Lysa's face turned a little pale, as if she had suffered some backlash.
This was a side effect the Quen Sign didn't have.
But taken as a whole, especially considering that Lysa had only practiced for a month or two, calling it "not weak" would be an understatement—it was unexpectedly strong.
For Melitele's priests, who served as crucial medical units on the battlefield, this level of strength was more than sufficient.
If the offensive divine art called Holy Fire were a bit stronger, it would even be somewhat overpowered.
The witcher thought for a moment, then moved his mind again and cast an appraisal on Lysa.
[Name: Lysa Hudson]
[Attributes: Strength 6, Agility 7, Constitution 9, Perception 22, Mystery 11]
"Hm?"
The average attributes of a normal human were all around 5. Lysa's attributes were indeed quite good—well above the norm—but aside from Perception and Mystery, they could hardly be called powerful.
Even Mystery, which was likely the attribute most closely tied to spell power, didn't seem capable of producing such an effect.
He had thought Lysa's Mystery would be at least forty, perhaps even fifty.
Or perhaps the primary attribute affecting divine art power was Perception—but even twenty-two points of Perception wasn't particularly high—
Though this did fit the priest selection of Melitele, where the requirements for Mystery and Perception weren't very strict.
Was it due to the special nature of Melitele's divine arts?
"So? How was it?" Lysa asked expectantly.
"Very good—really very good," Allen nodded, then asked curiously, "You're still an acolyte priest, right? Can every acolyte reach this level?"
If that were truly the case, it would be incredible. Combined with offensive divine arts, they could completely serve as main forces on the battlefield.
And the difficulty of training acolyte priests—forget witchers, it was even lower than training human knights.
"I became a full priest a month ago already!" The young priestess lifted her chin proudly and straightened her chest. "Granny Ianna and Nenneke both praised me for being very talented in divine arts—"
As expected. But even so, even for a full priest, this was still very impressive, with considerable strategic value—Allen thought.
If Melitele's priests had possessed this ability during the banishment of the evil god, the battle-hardened warriors wouldn't have needed to devote so much effort to protecting priests and sorceresses. That fight would have been much easier, with far fewer sacrifices.
"And I'm not done demonstrating yet—" The young priestess winked playfully at Allen, then once again murmured prayers for the same divine art.
This time, however, the hem of her cotton robe did not light up with golden patterns. Instead, the witcher suddenly felt warmth spread through his body.
Hm?!!
Allen looked down in surprise. Golden patterns lit up on his white shirt.
She could cast it on others as well?
Then this Sanctuary truly was very strong.
Next,
In addition to Sanctuary, after Lysa demonstrated Malice Detection, Blessing of Strength, and Sleep Prayer for him, she left the cabin and used Holy Fire to destroy a white birch tree about as thick as a fist in front of the door.
All in all, even if Lysa's divine art proficiency far surpassed that of her peers among full priests, this time the Temple of Melitele had gained a tremendous overall enhancement.
Offense, defense, healing, buffs and debuffs—there was truly a sense of the all-purpose cleric from the DND worldview of his previous life.
And in the witcher world, it was overpowered—genuinely a bit too overpowered.
At the same level, even full-fledged sorcerers were somewhat inferior to Melitele's priests.
Was this really right?
The demonstration continued until nearly noon, because Lysa's divine power was only enough to continuously use about four Sanctuary–level novice prayer arts, and two Blessing of Strength–level veteran prayer arts.
After that, she had to pray to recover. And even after recovery, it would take half an hour to accumulate enough "divine power" to cast a veteran prayer art once.
The reason she had been able to cast consecutively earlier was because Lysa usually stored a large amount of "divine power," equivalent to a charged "battery."
Insufficient endurance might be the only flaw of priests.
"Huff, huff—"
After demonstrating the final Holy Fire, Lysa was already panting heavily.
"All right, let's stop here," Allen urged the young priestess to rest at the right moment. "I've basically understood everything. Thank you, Lysa—"
Lysa took two more deep breaths, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and stared at the witcher with bright eyes. "Allen, with who I am now… can I help you?"
Allen froze for a moment.
Without waiting for his answer, Lysa glanced at the sky and said with a smile, "Let's go. Granny Ianna told me to take you to see her after I finished demonstrating the divine arts."
"Uh—mm—okay—where?" Allen asked instinctively.
"Follow me." Lysa went back into the cabin, placed the cup that had held the milk into a wicker basket, then headed outside. "Granny Ianna is waiting for you in the sanctuary—"
The two of them remained silent along the way.
Until the sanctuary came into view at the end of their sight, its sacred white spire rising high.
"I still need to deliver the food basket to the refectory, so I won't go in with you." Lysa stopped her steps.
Allen quickly replied, "Mm, okay. I'll go in by myself—"
Lysa didn't leave immediately. She watched the witcher intently for a while, until he felt uncomfortable enough to avert his gaze.
"I'll wait for you, Allen." Lysa smiled and left behind those softly spoken words, barely louder than a mosquito.
Before the witcher could react, she turned and walked decisively in another direction, without looking back.
Leaving that declaration drifting in the wind, as though it were merely a gust that had come from nowhere, and had never truly existed—
"Tap, tap, tap~"
The witcher's footsteps echoed through the long corridor of the sanctuary.
He didn't know if it was an illusion, but Allen felt that this return to the Temple of Melitele was different from before in every way.
Even the sanctuary he used to visit often—where he had once stayed for a long time to dispel the evil god's curse—felt completely renewed.
The entire empty corridor seemed filled with a unique power, gentle and warm.
Yet unlike Melitele's priests, even when he activated the wolf medallion and viewed it from an elemental perspective, he could see nothing.
Only the occasional, hallucination-like prayers of the faithful echoing in his ears, and the faint scent in the air—of wheat ripened and warmed by sunlight—proved that the witcher's perception was not an illusion.
It also seemed to tell him that this was how the sanctuary of the Goddess Melitele—she with the most followers on the Northern Continent—was meant to be.
He pushed open the great doors.
The three sacred statues of Melitele—the maiden, the pregnant woman, and the crone—were all shrouded in a soft, holy white light.
Ianna stood beneath the statues. Hearing the footsteps, she turned her head and suddenly asked a question that caught the witcher off guard: "The Brotherhood of Sorcerers is mounting an expedition to the Valley of Thousand Monsters. Do you plan to take part?"
....
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