What is an offensive priest?

Chapter 50 The Silent Watcher!

Night falls.

The bonfire party that the bard Omir had been looking forward to took place as scheduled.

Although the war successfully repelled the army of the Supreme God, Blackrock Town paid a heavy price for it.

They have lost Chief of Staff Weiss forever, as well as several young guards...

Their bodies now lie quietly in the cemetery north of the town, silent witnesses to this war.

Richard knew that the villagers in the town had been suppressed by fear for too long.

They need a long-awaited celebration to release the pressure in their hearts, to confirm that they are still alive, and to comfort the spirits of the deceased.

So he didn't stop it.

In the center of the square.

A huge bonfire was burning brightly.

Flames licked the night sky, dispelling the surrounding darkness and casting a swaying, warm glow.

All the villagers in the town, regardless of age or gender, gathered here.

Some people were wrapped in thick bandages, and some even used crutches or had their arms in slings, but their faces were filled with smiles of relief after surviving a disaster.

The huge weight that had been pressing on my heart finally lifted.

The shadow of death has finally dissipated.

At this moment, all they wanted to do was enjoy this rare moment of relaxation.

With the townspeople as an audience, the bard could fully display his musical talents.

"Hey--!"

The bard Omir stood on a large rock by the campfire, his emerald green velvet coat gleaming in the firelight, and his lute reflecting a warm glow.

He cleared his throat, his emerald eyes sweeping over everyone present, and then he plucked the strings.

"When darkness envelops the frontier—"

"When green-skinned sardines trample our homeland—"

"Who stepped forward—"

"Building walls with flesh and blood—"

Omir's singing was clear and stirring, like a horn piercing the night sky.

He incorporated the horrors of the war into his music.

The lute's sound can be rapid like war drums, tragic like a dirge, or joyful like a triumphant celebration.

The villagers of the town sat around the campfire, their bodies wrapped in heavy bandages, but that did not stop them from singing and dancing.

The elderly beat simple wooden drums, young people held hands and danced clumsily but joyfully, and children chased and played, their laughter as clear as silver bells.

It was as if the bloodshed and death of the daytime were just a distant nightmare.

The members of the Goddess's Lament Adventure Team, as heroes who helped the town defend against foreign enemies, were regarded as the most honored guests by the villagers and sat around in the very center of the crowd.

Kro held up a rough wooden cup filled with homemade wine from the villagers. It tasted sour and astringent, yet it was exceptionally mellow.

The paladin tapped his feet to the beat of Omir's music, a rare relaxed smile on his face, immersed in the long-awaited celebratory atmosphere.

The thief Maurice used his dagger to cut off a piece of charred venison and chewed it silently.

His eyes, which were always hidden in the shadows, were now reflecting the leaping campfire, and he seemed lost in thought.

Avel, however, was not focused on the task at hand. His crimson eyes darted around, searching for that familiar figure in the crowd.

"Where is Lord Richard?"

"Why haven't I seen him?"

Kro put down the wooden cup in his hand and looked towards the north of the town, at the cemetery shrouded in darkness.

"It should be in the cemetery."

The paladin's voice was deep and calm.

"Let him have some peace and quiet."

Avel bit his lip.

She hesitated for a moment, then quietly got up and left the lively crowd around the campfire.

Kro watched her departing figure, shook his head slightly, but did not stop her.

The cemetery is located north of Blackstone Town.

There is no bonfire, no singing, no laughter here.

Only cold tombstones, silent mounds of earth, and the mournful sound of the evening wind whistling through the pine forest.

The newly added graves today, with their freshly turned soil, appear a dark brown that contrasts sharply with the surroundings under the moonlight, like unhealed wounds on the earth.

Richard sat beside one of the mounds.

There is no tombstone on this mound, because there was no time to carve one.

But everyone knows who's lying down there.

The young pastor, who never drank alcohol, was now holding a glass of fruit wine.

Beside the mound of earth nearby, there was also a cup.

The wine is homemade by the villagers, using wild fruits from the back mountain. It has a sour and strong taste, and feels like it's burning when you put it in your mouth.

Richard tilted his head back and took a swig.

The strong liquor burned his throat and then his stomach, causing him to frown slightly.

"This liquor... is very strong."

His voice was soft, but it was exceptionally clear in the silent cemetery.

"I really don't know how you manage to drink that much."

The mound of earth remained silent.

Only the night breeze rustled through the pine needles.

If that harsh old soldier were still alive, he might grin and say in that rough, hoarse voice.

"This is real wine! What's the difference between what they drink and water?"

Unfortunately, Richard could no longer hear it.

"I remember when I first arrived in Blackrock Town, you thought I was a charlatan and almost kicked me out."

"Later, as we got to know each other better, you still wanted to kick me out of Blackrock Town."

"You said I shouldn't stay in this remote rural area, but should go out and see a wider world."

The night wind howled.

The sounds of laughter from the bonfire party drifted faintly from the direction of the town, creating a stark contrast with the deathly silence of the cemetery.

It's as if life and death are separated only by a pine forest.

a long time.

Richard slowly put down the wooden cup in his hand.

The confusion in his eyes gradually faded.

Instead, it possesses a steadfastness and sharpness akin to tempered steel.

"Don't worry."

Richard's voice was calm, yet as heavy as a vow.

"Before leaving Blackrock Town."

"I will take care of those damned beasts."

"Leave no one alive!"

He sat quietly beside the mound of earth, his golden pupils reflecting the distant glimmer of light, as if engaging in a silent dialogue with the deceased.

After a long silence.

"Come out."

Richard suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but clearly carried into the shadows of the pine forest.

"I know you're there."

A brief silence.

A slender figure slowly emerged from behind the pine tree.

The moonlight shone on her long, silvery-white hair, like flowing mercury.

It's Avel.

Her crimson pupils gleamed with a complex light, a mixture of worry and apology.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Richard."

Avel's voice was noticeably hurried.

"I didn't mean to bother you..."

"I'm just... a little worried..."

Richard turned to look at her.

There was no blame in his golden eyes, only a hint of helplessness in his smile.

"What are you worried about?"

Richard tilted his head back, drank the last drop of wine in his glass, and then gently placed the wooden glass next to the mound of earth, side by side with another glass.

"You forgot."

He stood up, his white priest's robes swaying slightly in the night breeze.

"I am a pastor!"

The moonlight shone on him, gilding his silhouette with a silvery glow.

"I've long been... used to life and death."

Avel stared at him blankly.

Looking at this man who always shoulders everything, looking at his golden eyes that seem to see through life and death, and the calm yet heavy curve of his lips.

"Respect for the deceased."

Richard raised another wooden cup and gently tilted it toward the mound of earth.

The clear wine, spilled on the freshly turned soil, seeped into the earth, as if nourishing a sleeping soul.

In the distance, the sounds of laughter from a bonfire party could be faintly heard.

And here.

Only tombstones and silence.

Two figures stood side by side, silently watching over each other in the moonlight.