Why's this bitch acting like I'm here to slaughter everyone? I'm here to heal.
Yue's laughter cut through the air—sharp, mocking, impossible to ignore.
"Look at you — you made the little girl cry."
Kael leaned against the wall, breath ragged.
"I'm not here to kill," he muttered, voice edged with exhaustion.
"Just… heal me. Quietly. Or…"
Nyra's eyes widened. Her lips trembled.
"M-Mr. Devil… you're not deceiving me, right?"
Kael's head throbbed. His jaw clenched. "Quick."
She flinched but nodded fast, hands wringing nervously.
"F-Follow me…"
Behind him, Yue floated like a wraith, her voice amused.
"You're terrifying the poor girl. She looks ready to faint."
Kael didn't answer.
They entered a small room at the back of the church. The bed was narrow but clean. Herbs hung from the ceiling, and books were stacked neatly in corners.
Nyra was shaking.
Kael sighed and collapsed onto the bed. "Hurry."
Nyra ran to fetch water and potions.
But Kael growled, "Enough with the ceremony."
She nodded and—flushing red—tore open his shirt with trembling hands. A soft glow bloomed from her fingertips as she cast a diagnostic spell.
"Oh no…" she whispered. "Y-You have a serious soul injury. Your spiritual thread is frayed. B-But don't worry! I-I can heal it!"
She placed a rune-etched artifact—silver inlaid with moonstone—over his chest. Her hands hovered, channeling her mana. Gentle, golden light spilled over Kael's wounds.
He exhaled slowly, the searing pain dulling to a throb.
Still, the mental agony lingered—raw and sharp.
Nyra moved with increasing confidence, her fear folding into focus.
She used more spells, layered potions, and wrapped bandages soaked in alchemical salves.
Kael's body trembled. But the bleeding inside slowed. His vision steadied.
For the first time in hours—he wasn't fading.
Some time passed. The worst of the pain was gone. His vision no longer swam, and his breath came steadily.
Kael flexed his fingers—then slowly sat up.
He was as good as new.
Nyra stepped closer, a soft smile brightening her features beneath the modest robes of a saintess.
"You're healed now, Mr. Devil," she said gently, her voice still edged with nerves but proud of her work.
Kael made to stand—but Nyra immediately raised both hands and stepped forward.
"Stop! M-Mr. Devil, you must rest for at least an hour. I insist!" she said with rare firmness.
Kael blinked.
He looked toward the window—moonlight still painted long beams across the wooden floor. Midnight. Still hours before dawn.
He turned his gaze back to her. She looked determined, arms folded, jaw tight in an effort to appear stern. She wasn't a fighter—but she wasn't backing down, either.
"…Fine," he murmured, exhaling a long breath as he leaned back.
A few seconds passed before he asked, quietly, "You're talented. That healing… was expert work. So why are you in a beggar's chapel like this?"
Nyra flinched, eyes wide. "D-Don't call it that!"
Then she caught herself—clasping both hands over her mouth.
"I—I mean… I like it here," she stammered. "It's… peaceful. I can help those who really need it…"
Kael's gaze swept the room. The shelves were lined with medical certificates, trophies, parchments marked with high honors from regional guilds and academies.
Framed letters of thanks. Commendations. She wasn't just good—she had once been recognized as elite.
His brows furrowed slightly. This woman had walked away from the center stage of the empire's magical healing world… for this?
Kael leaned back slightly, arms crossed, gaze cool beneath the soft flicker of candlelight.
If people are idiots, he thought, what's the point in lecturing them?
But then she spoke—hesitant at first, words trembling out like petals in the wind.
"When… when I graduated from the Royal Academy—"
His eyes narrowed slightly, one brow lifting.
"Royal Academy? That's the Empire's finest. Not like those kingdom magic-schools."
She flushed but nodded.
"Yes… I trained there. Healing arts, sacred rituals. I thought I would serve the Night Goddess… do good."
Her voice dipped into something bitter.
"But what I found was—was not what I expected. In the name of the Night Goddess, they harassed the poor. Turned them away unless they paid gold. They wouldn't even touch the sick without a donation."
Kael's jaw tensed, but he stayed silent.
"I protested. I tried to change things. I begged them to at least treat the children…" Her fingers clenched at her robes. "But they ignored me."
She looked away.
"So I left. Opened a small clinic in a slum. Treated whoever came, for free."
Kael already knew where this was going.
"They destroyed it."
Her voice cracked. She straightened.
"So I fled here. Nobody knows me in this district. I found this abandoned shrine to the Night Goddess… turned it into a home. An orphanage. A place to start again."
She forced a small, brave smile.
"At least here, I can heal without permission. Feed without tax. And maybe… the goddess sees that, even if her church does not."
The silence between them stretched—thick with emotion.
Kael's gaze dropped briefly to the bandages still wrapped around his chest.
"…Idiots indeed," he muttered.
Kael's eyes lingered on her for a beat longer than usual. Then, without a word, he reached into his space ring.
A soft clink.
Then another.
Gold.
He pulled out a pouch heavy with 1000 gold coins—more than most nobles would donate in a lifetime—and placed it on the nearby table with a dull thud.
Nyra's eyes widened in panic.
"I—I can't accept this," she stammered, hands raised, backing slightly as if the pouch might explode.
Kael's tone dropped—firm, quiet, final.
"Take it."
She froze, swallowed, and gave a tiny nod.
"T-Thank you… Mr. Devil. You… you're not so bad after all."
Kael turned away, steps slow but steady. The shadows of the orphanage hallway seemed to fold around his frame.
At the doorway, he paused.
"…No," he said, not looking back. "I'm worse."
And then he was gone—swallowed by the midnight outside, leaving only silence and a stunned Saintess clutching gold she never asked for.