Leon stared at the green-haired girl, his mystical eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. The title rolled around in his mind like a foreign concept trying to find purchase.

Saintess of Life.

He'd heard whispers of such titles in the darker corners of taverns and the hushed conversations of traveling merchants. Still, they'd always seemed like fairy tales—stories told to wide-eyed children about divine beings who could heal with a touch and commune with gods. Standing here, looking at this overly enthusiastic girl with stars in her emerald eyes, the whole thing felt surreal.

"So… Saintess," Leon said slowly, his tone carrying the weight of someone trying to navigate unfamiliar territory. "That's supposed to be important. Like, really important?"

He scratched the back of his neck, silver hair catching the fading light from the arena's destruction. "Look, I'll be honest—I don't know much about religious hierarchy or divine politics or whatever this is. But from the way you're talking, and the way that blonde woman was throwing around terms like 'Holy Son,' I'm guessing you're not just some normal person."

Lioriel's smile widened, clearly delighted by his confusion rather than offended. "Oh, Leon, you really are—"

CRASH.

The sound came from behind them—Andrew had stumbled backward so hard he'd collided with a chunk of debris from the arena's collapse. His face had gone completely white, drained of all color as if he'd seen a ghost. His hands trembled as he stared at Lioriel with a mixture of terror and awe that bordered on reverence.

"The… the 37th Saintess," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Dear gods above and below."

Unlike Leon's casual confusion, Andrew understood exactly what stood before them. A Saintess wasn't just important—she was divine. These weren't mere priests or healers; they were chosen vessels of the gods themselves, capable of miracles that defied natural law. Nations went to war over the favor of a Saintess. Kings knelt before them. Emperors offered their kingdoms for a single blessing.

And his daughter—his precious Liora—had somehow gotten entangled with a boy who was apparently connected to one of the most powerful beings in existence.

Andrew's knees nearly buckled as the full implications crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Seeing her father's unusual reaction, Liora was utterly confused. She knew nothing about any of this.

Saintess of Life—that was a term she had never heard before. The Church of Life had priestesses, sure, but she had never heard of someone called by such a grand term as "Saintess."

Liora didn't know who this green-haired woman was or why she was being so friendly to Leon, but one thing was clear: she was someone of great importance. Otherwise, her father wouldn't have made such an exaggerated reaction.

"Tell me more about the thing inside the A—" Leon was asking, but his voice was cut off as Lioriel chirped in excitedly.

"Look! Look! It's starting!"

The black mist slithered out like a living shadow, writhing unnaturally as if it had a will of its own. Shapes flickered inside—hands, mouths, things better left unimagined.

A foul hum vibrated through the ground, low and mournful, as if the mist itself was growling.

Light bent around it—not dimmed but consumed. Even sound seemed to die near it.

The stench hit like a curse: burnt copper mixed with rotting sweetness, sharp enough to sting the eyes.

Leon and everyone else turned their attention to the distance, toward the arena where black mist-like clouds were forming above the wreckage. That wasn't all—with it came an ominous aura and a putrid smell that reached them even at this distance.

Leon couldn't help but put his hand over his mouth and bend forward slightly.

"Urrggh…" It wasn't just the pain that made him grunt, but the horrible stench that hit him. He almost vomited, his stomach churning violently.

What is this horrible stench… I have never smelled something so disgusting in my life.

But that wasn't all. For some reason, he was feeling angry—furiously, inexplicably angry. He didn't understand why, but rage was building inside him like a volcanic eruption. From a slight slip of control, the ground beneath his feet cracked just from the pressure of his footstep.

CRACK!

Seraphine's lightning-blue eyes immediately locked onto Leon as his body trembled with barely controlled rage. She'd seen him angry before—cold, calculating fury that could freeze armies in place—but this was different. This was raw, primal, and entirely unlike him.

Without hesitation, she stepped closer and placed her hand gently on his back, her touch warm against the tension coiled in his muscles. Soft sparks of her lightning magic danced across her fingertips, not to harm but to soothe, sending calming pulses of energy through his nervous system.

"Leon," she said softly, her voice cutting through the haze of inexplicable anger clouding his mind. "Breathe. Focus on my voice."

Her hand moved in slow, circular motions against his back, the familiar gesture one she'd used countless times when nightmares or memories threatened to overwhelm him. The warmth of her touch began to anchor him, pulling him back from whatever dark precipice he'd been teetering on.

"That's it," she murmured, feeling some of the tension begin to leave his frame. "Let it pass through you. Don't hold onto it."

As Leon's breathing gradually steadied, Seraphine's analytical mind began working. Her keen eyes swept over the others in their group, noting their reactions to the black mist rising from the arena. Andrew looked disturbed but not nauseated. Liora had wrinkled her nose slightly at the smell. Still, she seemed more concerned about her father's earlier shock than any physical discomfort. Even Lioriel, despite her earlier excitement, appeared unbothered by the putrid stench.

They're not feeling what he's feeling.

"Leon," Seraphine said quietly, her hand still tracing soothing patterns on his back. "Look at the others. Really look."

Still fighting the waves of nausea and rage, Leon managed to lift his head and follow her gaze. Through the red haze of anger, he began to notice what Seraphine had already observed.

"The smell," Seraphine continued, her voice pitched low so only he could hear. "It's barely noticeable to them. A light, unpleasant odor at most. But for you…"

Leon's mystical eyes widened as understanding began to dawn. The others were reacting to the black mist, yes, but their responses were mild—wrinkled noses, slight discomfort. Nothing like the overwhelming revulsion and fury that had nearly brought him to his knees.

"Why?" he managed to whisper, his voice still strained. "Why am I the only one—?"

"I don't know yet," Seraphine admitted, her thumb brushing against the base of his neck in a gesture meant to ground him. "But whatever that black mist is, it's affecting you differently. Stronger. More violently."

Her lightning crackled softly around them both, creating a protective barrier that filtered some of the oppressive atmosphere.

"We need to figure out why."

Lioriel's emerald eyes, still sparkling with starlight, focused intently on Leon's hunched figure as she caught fragments of Seraphine's whispered words. Her cheerful expression shifted slightly, taking on a more thoughtful quality as understanding began to crystallize in her mind.

His connection to the God of Life…

She pressed her lips together, her own delicate features tightening as the putrid corruption wafted toward them. Unlike the others who seemed barely bothered, Lioriel felt the stench hit her like a physical blow—acrid, wrong, and fundamentally opposed to everything she represented. Her divine nature recoiled from it instinctively, every fiber of her being recognizing it as an antithesis to life itself.

But she had grown accustomed to this sensation over the years of her training and service. Corruption was the enemy of all Saintesses, and she had learned to steel herself against its nauseating presence. The smell was horrible, yes, but manageable.

Leon's reaction, however, was something else entirely.

If his connection to the god is even stronger than mine…

Her eyes widened as the full implications hit her. She had assumed his divine resonance was significant enough to mark him as a Holy Son, certainly—but she had treated it almost casually, like an interesting coincidence. Watching him now, seeing the way his entire body convulsed with revulsion and barely controlled power, she realized she might have severely underestimated just how profound his connection truly was.

The ground beneath his feet continued to crack with each unconscious flex of his muscles. His mystical eyes blazed with an inner light that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his labored breathing. This wasn't just sensitivity to corruption—this was a divine vessel experiencing something that went against his very essence.

I've never seen anyone react this violently, she thought, a mixture of awe and concern flickering across her features. Even the most devoted priests I've known could maintain some composure when faced with corruption. But he…

She watched as Seraphine continued her soothing ministrations, the lightning mage's calm efficiency a stark contrast to Leon's barely contained chaos. Lioriel found herself reassessing everything she thought she knew about the silver-haired young man before her.

Perhaps she had been too casual in her approach. If his divine connection was truly this powerful—strong enough to cause such an extreme physical and emotional reaction to corruption—then he wasn't just a Holy Son.

He might be something far more significant.

The thought sent a small thrill through her, though she couldn't quite tell whether it was excitement or trepidation.

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