Chapter 198 Confession To Saintess

The next day dawned with a sense of weary relief hanging over the encampment. The fierce battle of the previous night had left its mark, but the human forces had emerged victorious. As the sun climbed higher in the azure sky, the focus shifted from immediate defense to recovery and preparation for the future. King Thaleon, his voice resonating with authority, gathered the leaders and key figures of the Eloriath Kingdom.

“My loyal subjects,” he began, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. “We have once again repelled the demonic onslaught, a testament to our courage and the blessings of the Radiant God. But this is not the end. The Demon Fortress remains a festering wound upon our land. We must prepare for a decisive strike. This time, our attack will be overwhelming, a single, powerful blow that will cripple the demons and bring us closer to victory.”

Discussions immediately broke out amongst the leaders, strategies and resources being debated with renewed urgency. The near defeat had served as a stark reminder of the enemy’s strength, solidifying their resolve to take the offensive.

In a quieter part of the camp, Kenneth clenched his fists, his jaw tight with determination. ‘Grandmaster Mage,’ he thought, the words a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew that stewing in his resentment wouldn’t make him stronger. He needed to fight. He needed to slaughter demons and rapidly increase his own level. He would have to bide his time until King Thaleon’s grand assault on the Demon Fortress was launched.

“Just you wait, Steele,” Kenneth muttered under his breath, his eyes burning with a fierce, albeit frustrated, ambition. “I will surpass you. I will become stronger than you can ever imagine.” He spent the day honing his skills, practicing his spells with a renewed intensity, eager for the moment he could unleash his fury upon the demonic hordes.

Not far away, Noah was consumed by similar thoughts. He had tasted the power that came with the slaughter of numerous demons, his recent advancement to peak Master Mage rank a tangible reward. ‘The fortress… that’s where the real numbers are,’ he mused, his mind already formulating plans for maximizing his kills during the upcoming assault. “Just need to make sure I have enough pills ready,” he muttered, his hands instinctively reaching for his alchemical supplies. The thought of Alaric still being so far ahead gnawed at him, fueling his desire to grow even stronger, even faster.

Meanwhile, Alaric, having enjoyed a thoroughly satisfying and utterly exhausting night, slipped out of his tent as the morning sun cast its golden rays across the encampment. Inside, amidst the rumpled furs, lay the naked and utterly spent bodies of Lyra and Cassandra. Their blonde hair was tangled, their faces flushed, and their lips were still slightly swollen from his passionate kisses. He had indeed shown them the power of a Grandmaster, his stamina seemingly endless. He had pinched their supple flesh, left playful bite marks on their sensitive necks and breasts, and fondled their every curve until they had cried out in ecstasy. Evidence of his fervent attentions was scattered across their bodies – patches of reddish skin, the occasional love bite, and a general air of blissful exhaustion.

Alaric, feeling a sense of contentment, had a different destination in mind. He headed directly towards the infirmary tent, where he knew Saintess Ceanna would be tirelessly tending to the wounded. He found her amidst rows of injured soldiers, her silver hair shimmering in the soft light as she moved with grace and compassion, her hands radiating a gentle, healing energy.

“Saintess Ceanna,” Alaric said softly, approaching her.

Ceanna turned, her golden eyes widening slightly in surprise, then softening into a warm smile. “Master Steele. You are looking well.”

“As are you, Saintess,” Alaric replied, his voice gentle. He reached out and took her hand in his, his thumb lightly stroking her soft skin.

The moment his skin made contact with hers, Alaric felt the familiar surge of the Harem God System activating. Though Ceanna, being a Saintess, remained oblivious to the subtle magical influence now washing over her, the system was indeed at work.

“I wanted to thank you again for your assistance last night,” Alaric continued, his gaze sincere. “Your holy magic was invaluable.”

“It was my duty, Master Steele,” Ceanna replied, a faint blush touching her cheeks at his touch. She didn’t pull her hand away, a surprising reaction even to herself.

“And I was also curious,” Alaric said, his ruby eyes meeting her golden ones with a gentle curiosity. “You are the Saintess of the Radiant God. Your life must be… quite unique. Would you mind telling me a little about it?”

Ceanna hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering down to their joined hands. Then, she looked back up at Alaric, a hint of sadness clouding her radiant eyes. “It is… not a tale filled with much joy, Master Steele. But if you truly wish to know…” She sighed softly, and began to speak, her voice tinged with a melancholic undertone.

“I was chosen by the Radiant God when I was but a child, barely ten years of age. It was during a time of great sickness in my village, a terrible plague that swept through and claimed many lives. I remember the fear, the desperation… and then, one day, a light. A pure, radiant light filled me, and I felt a power surge within me, a power of purification. With trembling hands, I touched the sick, and the darkness within them receded. The plague… it simply vanished from our village.”

Ceanna’s voice grew softer, tinged with a sorrow that belied her youthful appearance. “The priests of the Radiant God’s church arrived soon after. They recognized the divine blessing within me, the mark of a Saintess. My parents… they were simple folk, devout in their faith. They believed it was a great honor, a gift from the heavens. And in a way, it was. But it also meant… the end of my childhood.”

She paused, her gaze distant, as if reliving those long-ago days. “I was taken away from my family, from my friends, from everything I knew. My life became dedicated entirely to the Radiant God. Years of rigorous training followed, endless prayers, constant study of holy texts. I was taught to channel the divine power within me, to heal, to purify, to be a beacon of hope for the faithful.”

A faint tremor ran through her hand, still held in Alaric’s. “There was little room for personal desires, for friendships beyond the clergy, for the simple joys of life that other girls my age experienced. My existence became solely about serving the Radiant God and his people. It was a path of devotion, of sacrifice. And often… of loneliness.”

Ceanna’s voice was barely above a whisper now, the weight of her past evident in her tone. “The power of Purification… it is a great gift, Master Steele. I have seen it heal the gravest wounds, cleanse the most vile corruption. But it also sets me apart. There is a… distance, a barrier between me and others. My life is not my own. It belongs to the Radiant God.”

She looked up at Alaric, her golden eyes filled with a profound sadness. “So, you see, Master Steele, my life as the Saintess… it is a path of light, yes, but one often walked in shadow. A path of duty, where personal happiness is a distant, almost forgotten dream.” The weight of her words hung in the air, painting a poignant picture of a life dedicated to a higher calling, but at a significant personal cost.

“The years that followed my selection were a blur of sacred rituals and intense training,” Ceanna continued, her voice a soft melody tinged with a hint of melancholy. “I was surrounded by the highest echelons of the Radiant God’s clergy – Archbishops, High Priests, all dedicated to guiding me, shaping me into the vessel the Radiant God desired. They were kind, in their way, but there was always a distance, a reverence that prevented any true intimacy. They saw me as an instrument of the divine, not as Ceanna, a girl who missed her mother’s laughter and the warmth of her father’s embrace.”

She paused, her gaze drifting towards the wounded soldiers, a deep empathy etched on her face. “I learned to channel the Light, to mend broken bones and soothe ravaged spirits. I witnessed miracles, moments of profound healing that reaffirmed the power of the Radiant God. But with each life I saved, with each affliction I eased, the weight of expectation grew heavier. The people looked at me with such hope, such unwavering faith. It was a blessing, yes, but also an immense burden. I constantly feared that I would fail them, that the divine power within me would falter.”

Ceanna’s fingers tightened slightly around Alaric’s hand. “There were times, especially in the early years, when the loneliness was almost unbearable. I would see other children playing, laughing freely, and a deep ache would resonate within me. I yearned for simple companionship, for a friend who would see past the halo of divinity that surrounded me. But how could they? I was the Saintess, touched by the Radiant God himself. It created an invisible wall, separating me from the ordinary world.”

She sighed softly. “As I grew older, the expectations became even more pronounced. Every word I spoke, every action I took was scrutinized, analyzed for divine meaning. I had no room for error, no space for personal failings. I had to be perfect, a flawless embodiment of the Radiant God’s will. It was a constant pressure, a relentless demand for unwavering piety and unwavering strength.”

Alaric listened intently, his ruby eyes filled with a genuine sympathy. He could sense the underlying sadness in her voice, the unspoken longing for a life she had never known.

“There were moments of great sorrow,” Ceanna continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I have witnessed plagues that no amount of healing could fully eradicate, famines that left entire villages starving, and the horrors of war that scarred both body and soul. Each instance of suffering weighed heavily on my heart. I would spend countless hours in prayer, pleading with the Radiant God for guidance, for the strength to alleviate the pain I witnessed. Sometimes, I felt so… helpless, despite the power I possessed.”

She looked down at their joined hands again, a faint smile touching her lips. “The Radiant God… his presence is a constant in my life. There are moments of profound connection, of feeling his divine love and guidance flowing through me. Those moments are… beautiful, truly. They reaffirm my faith and give me the strength to continue. But even then, there is a sense of being… different. His perspective is so vast, so beyond human comprehension. It reinforces the feeling that my life is not entirely my own, that I am a part of something much larger, something that transcends my individual desires.”

“Did you… never wish for a different life?” Alaric asked gently, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

Ceanna hesitated for a long moment, her golden eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions. “Of course,” she finally admitted, her voice barely audible. “There were times, especially in my youth, when I would dream of a simple life. Of having a family, a husband, children… of experiencing the everyday joys and sorrows that ordinary people face. But those were just dreams, fleeting fantasies that I knew could never be. My path was chosen for me, long before I had any say in the matter. And I have accepted it. I have dedicated my life to the Radiant God, and I will continue to serve him to the best of my abilities.”

She paused, a hint of resignation in her tone. “The weight of expectations from the church, from the kingdom… it is immense. They see me as a symbol of hope, a protector against the darkness. I strive to meet those expectations, to be the beacon they believe me to be. But sometimes… sometimes the light feels very dim within me.”

Ceanna’s gaze drifted back to Alaric, a flicker of something akin to curiosity in her eyes. “Your life, Master Steele… it seems so different. You possess such incredible power, yet you seem… unbound. You make your own choices, forge your own path.”

Alaric remained silent for a moment, considering her words. He knew his own path had been far from easy, filled with its own unique set of challenges and burdens. But he also recognized the profound difference in their circumstances.

“There have been moments of doubt, of course,” Ceanna continued, her voice regaining a touch of its earlier melancholy. “Times when the weight of responsibility felt too heavy to bear, when the loneliness threatened to consume me. In those moments, I would turn to the Radiant God, seeking solace and guidance. And always, I would find the strength to reaffirm my commitment, to remember the purpose of my existence.”

She looked at Alaric, her gaze surprisingly direct. “Your arrival, Master Steele… it has been… unexpected. You possess a power that rivals even some of the Archmages, yet you are so young. And your… demeanor… it is unlike anyone I have ever met within the clergy or the noble court. There is a… directness about you, a lack of pretense that is… refreshing.”

A faint blush touched her cheeks again. “And… your concern for my safety last night… it was… unexpected. I am accustomed to being revered, to being treated with a certain level of distance. Your actions… they felt… different. More personal.”

Ceanna’s voice trailed off, her gaze softening. “My life, Master Steele, has been one of dedication, of sacrifice, and often, of solitude. It is a path I chose, or rather, a path that was chosen for me. And while there have been moments of profound beauty and spiritual connection, it has also been a path marked by a deep and abiding sorrow for the life I never lived.”

Alaric listened intently to Saintess Ceanna’s poignant tale, his grip on her hand never faltering. Her words painted a vivid picture of a life dedicated to a higher power, but at the cost of personal happiness. A surge of protectiveness, mixed with a burgeoning affection, welled up within him. He looked at her, his ruby eyes filled with a fierce determination.

“Saintess Ceanna,” Alaric said, his voice low and earnest, “I promise you this. I will not let you continue to live a life filled with such tragedy. To me, you are not just some holy figurehead; you are a beautiful woman, a kind soul who deserves to live as your heart truly desires. This ‘Radiant God’ you speak of…” He paused, his gaze hardening slightly. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn about him or his demands if they lead to such sorrow in your life.”

He watched her closely, expecting anger or perhaps even outrage at his blatant disregard for her deity. But to his surprise, Ceanna’s expression remained one of gentle sadness, a hint of curiosity flickering in her golden eyes.

“Master Steele…” she began softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite decipher.

Alaric tightened his grip on her hand, his gaze intense. “I know this might sound… sudden, Saintess. But as I spoke those words, I realized something. I have started to like you, Ceanna. Not to the point of love, perhaps, not yet. But the feeling is definitely there, a seed that has begun to sprout. And I know, with absolute certainty, that it is only a matter of time before that seed blossoms into a great love. So, I tell you this now, Ceanna. Prepare yourself for my love. I am going to do everything in my power to make you the happiest woman in this world, regardless of what any god or kingdom might say.”

A wave of shock washed over Ceanna’s face. Her golden eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly, as if she were struggling to find the right words. “Master Steele… I… I don’t know what to say. I am a Saintess. I have taken vows. I cannot have any… romantic interaction with anyone. My life is dedicated to the Radiant God.” Her voice was a mere whisper, filled with a mixture of disbelief and a dawning awareness of the intensity in his gaze.

Alaric simply smiled, a confident, almost predatory curve of his lips. “Then, Saintess Ceanna,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering, “I will simply have to remove you from your position as Saintess. If this Radiant God of yours has kept you in this sorrowful existence, then perhaps it is time for a change of management. Even if,” he added, his ruby eyes glinting with a hint of mischief, “I have to use forceful means, means that your Radiant God might not particularly appreciate.”

Ceanna stared at him, her mind reeling from the audacity of his words. Part of her was frightened, deeply so, at his blatant disregard for the divine. But another part, a part that had long been dormant, stirred with a flicker of something akin to… hope? It was a dangerous feeling, one she had suppressed for so long, but Alaric’s unwavering confidence was strangely compelling.

After this intense and unexpected exchange, the two eventually parted ways. Ceanna returned to her duties in the infirmary, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Alaric’s words, his confession, his audacious promise – they echoed in her thoughts, challenging the very foundations of her carefully constructed life.

Alaric, equally lost in his own thoughts, returned to his tent. He found Lyra and Cassandra still sleeping soundly, their beautiful bodies a testament to the passionate night they had shared. He smiled, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. He had made a promise to Ceanna, and Alaric Steele was not one to break his promises.

In the days that followed, the focus of the Eloriath Kingdom’s forces turned entirely to the planned assault on the Demon Fortress. King Thaleon, buoyed by the successful defense and the emergence of Alaric as a Grandmaster Mage, was determined to press their advantage. Scouts were sent out to gather intelligence, mages worked on powerful offensive spells, and the various regiments of knights and soldiers drilled relentlessly, preparing for the arduous task ahead.

Strategic meetings were held daily in the command tent, attended by King Thaleon, the Archmages, the Martial Kings, and other key leaders. Archmage Gideon Thorne, his face grim, presented the latest intelligence reports. “The Demon Fortress is heavily fortified, Your Majesty. Their numbers have likely been replenished since our last encounter. We must expect fierce resistance.”

Martial King Patric spoke next. “Our forces are still recovering, Your Majesty. A large-scale assault will require careful planning and coordination. We must ensure we have sufficient reserves and a clear strategy to breach their defenses.”

Archmage Rahel Klinghoffer, her gaze sharp and focused, added, “Their magical defenses will be formidable. We will need a coordinated effort from our mages to counter their spells and create openings for our troops.”

King Thaleon listened intently, nodding thoughtfully. “We will strike within the week,” he declared, his voice firm. “We will gather our full strength, every available soldier, every skilled mage, every seasoned warrior. This time, we will not falter. We will take the Demon Fortress and drive these abominations back to the hell from whence they came.”

Preparations intensified. Supplies were gathered, formations were planned, and the air in the encampment buzzed with a renewed sense of purpose. Even Kenneth and Noah, their personal ambitions still burning brightly, threw themselves into the preparations, knowing that the upcoming battle would provide ample opportunities to increase their own power.

Alaric, while participating in some of the strategic discussions, found his thoughts often drifting back to Saintess Ceanna. He observed her from a distance, noticing the quiet strength she exuded as she continued her tireless work in the infirmary. He saw the weight of her responsibilities, the unwavering dedication in her eyes. And with each passing day, his resolve to bring her happiness grew stronger. The assault on the Demon Fortress was looming, a major undertaking that would require all their strength. But in the back of Alaric’s mind, another battle was brewing, a personal one for the heart and future of Saintess Ceanna.