Kapitel 82: Chapter 66: This is Kindness from a Demigod!
I always knew Yulia had a fiery personality.
But I never expected exorcism could be this intense.
Yep, this woman's behavior defies all common sense.
Once the last demon was vanquished, I could finally take a breather.
"Van Helsing! So what if I killed a few civilians? It's not like I offered blood sacrifices to demons—come on, fight me to the death if you dare!"
"You're a witcher, not a priest!"
In the desolate outskirts, Van Helsing, his gray hair tousled, aimed his demon-hunting crossbow with deadly precision.
The crossbow bolt, blessed by holy light after being steeped in sacred water, tore through the black-robed man's body, releasing a stench of poison and dark energy. A cloud of deathly aura billowed out, staining the air.
"Followers of the Church of the Dead… vile corpse-defilers who toy with souls," Van Helsing murmured, his gaze cold and unyielding as he watched the remaining men in black robes flee.
These people treated corpses and souls as mere playthings, twisting and defiling them at will.
They were leagues apart from the Church of Death, which reveres the God of Death—a mighty deity on par with the God of Glory.
Though the Church of Death occasionally uses the deceased for holy rites, it's sanctioned under divine law.
But the Church of the Dead? Those liches and necromancers defile bodies and souls in the vilest ways, even transforming themselves into twisted half-human, half-ghost abominations. They're mortal enemies of the Holy Church.
Still, to Van Helsing, neither church was exactly righteous.
However, the Church of Death worships an orthodox god, while the Church of the Dead worships merely a powerful demigod. Even deities know to pick on the weak.
The black-robed man, his back against the wall, glanced over his shoulder at Van Helsing, who stalked him like a hunting hound. His eyes gleamed with malice.
"Van Helsing, you're courting death!"
"Fine! I may have a half-finished product, but it's enough to deal with someone like you who isn't even legendary!"
Just as Van Helsing closed in, a chilling sensation crept over him.
A dark magic circle flared up on the ground, and a chorus of agonized wails echoed from its depths.
"Summoning the dead!" Van Helsing's eyes narrowed. Necromancers could summon creatures from beyond using magic. This was no ordinary enemy.
After weeks of investigating, he'd traced this villain to dozens of nearby villages, where thousands of innocents had been abducted. It was highly likely this summoning involved some twisted undead crafted from the blood, flesh, and souls of those poor people.
A chilling sound of chains scraping the earth snapped him back.
From within the magic circle, a figure emerged. It had mottled green skin sewn together with steel nails. Each limb was taken from a different monster—claws of wolves and tigers, the legs of a bull, and mismatched arms wielding various weapons. Its chest, a grotesque maw lined with razor-sharp fangs, pulsed with foul energy, its innards roiling beneath torn flesh. Its face twisted in agony and hate.
One arm swung out, flinging a hooked chain. Van Helsing leapt aside as the chain obliterated a tree behind him.
The stitched abomination roared and lunged forward.
Van Helsing, dodging with quick precision, noted that while it was fast and brutally strong, its reflexes seemed… basic.
Taking his chance, he slashed his silver sword, blessed by holy water, across the creature's belly.
Blood sprayed, flesh torn apart—yet almost immediately, thick black threads stitched the wound shut, pulling its organs back in place.
"Struggle all you want, Van Helsing! It's useless!" the robed man cackled. "This creature is crafted from thousands of tormented souls and monsters. Even if injured, it heals instantly! Your death is inevitable!"
The black-robed man's laughter echoed through the desolate night.
This grotesque beast was his masterpiece. Years of toil, gathering corpses, extracting souls—it had all led to this abomination.
The bishop had told him it could rival legends in resilience. Even seasoned warriors would struggle to kill it, let alone a mere witcher like Van Helsing.
The battle dragged on. Van Helsing's body was battered, his clothes soaked in blood, yet he didn't retreat. His eyes stayed sharp, focused.
"If I don't come up with something, I might actually die here."
This creature's regenerative abilities were monstrous. No matter what wound he inflicted, it'd heal instantly. But Van Helsing? He was mortal. One solid hit from this thing would be the end.
"Van Helsing, today is your end!" The black-robed man sneered, reveling in his foe's inevitable doom.
But just then…
A golden battle ax, blazing with holy light, streaked across the sky and cleaved the monster in two.
Before it could begin to heal, a brilliant orb of flame descended, setting the monster ablaze like a newborn sun. It was incinerated within moments, reduced to ash.
As dawn broke, a figure emerged, bathed in the golden light of the rising sun. His upper body glistened like a sculpture of perfection, his presence akin to a king crowned by sunlight.
Two pairs of astonished eyes turned toward him.
Rhodes strode forward, his chest bare, exuding an aura of fierce authority. Flames flickered in his hand, filling the air with a searing heat.
"Van Helsing, I'm disappointed. You couldn't handle trash like this?" Rhodes said, shaking his head with disdain.
Van Helsing's eye twitched. Did this guy really think so highly of him? That stitched monster nearly rivaled legends! Even a cardinal would struggle against it.
To Rhodes, however, even legendary foes were mere nuisances, especially for someone with his power.
"Strength isn't just physical. Real strength comes from within, from resilience and resolve," Rhodes continued. "Van Helsing, I see potential in you. If you seek more power, follow my guidance to the Forest of Silence. There, you can acquire strength beyond what you could ever dream in this lifetime. But it comes with a price—your soul, your faith."
Rhodes looked at him, assessing. He appreciated Van Helsing's fortitude and spirit—traits rare among mortals. In the hands of the Sun God, Van Helsing could become a high elf, inheriting incredible power. The Well of the Sun could grant him the strength to reach legendary heights and perhaps, in time, even the level of the Holy Domain.
But there was a catch. Van Helsing would have to forsake his faith in the God of Glory and pledge himself to Rhodes, the Sun God.
Van Helsing hesitated. Logic told him that abandoning a god for a demigod was madness. But the yearning for strength, the hunger for vengeance against demons—it stirred something deep within him.
Rhodes didn't push further. His offer was laid out. With his power and pride, he wasn't one to beg a mere mortal, not even a legend. To extend this much to Van Helsing was an exception.
He could refuse. But if he tried to negotiate further, it would be a gross insult.
After all, this was kindness from a demigod…
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