He identified the clay potion bottle and grey words filled his sight.

{Potion of lesser healing}

{Item rarity: common}

{Item quality: waste}

{This watered down healing brew heals 5 points of health in 1 minute.}

It was indeed a ‘waste’ quality potion. Perhaps it would have been of great value to the ordinary people, but the young dark elf knew it better to just pocket it.

“I shouldn’t have this,” he shook his head. “I know basic healing magic, so I can heal myself if I get hurt. You should keep it. I can also heal you and your group if needed, but my arcana reserves are limited, so I can only use the spell twice before having to recuperate.”

“You know how to heal?” The guards asked as one with a few of them even stumbling back.

“I do, but as I’ve said, it’s only the simplest healing spell. Don’t expect miracles.”

“We won’t,” Grego shook his head. “But you really should have started with that. I wouldn’t have risked sending a healer out to fight. Your talents would have been better spent taking care of a steady line of injured.”

“Healing people won’t let me get better at fighting, or earn me Amaranth. And besides; I volunteered to fight, not to play nurse.”

“Alright,” the man sighed. “I know when I meet a stubborn fellow, so I won’t argue. And keep the potion for yourself, just in case.”

Regis nodded and quietly walked over to his knapsack to stash the bottle inside before switching his burnt armguard to one of the spares he scavenged earlier. After a few rounds of healing dished out to the guards and a few nearby volunteer refugees, the youth wobbled back into the line to fight alongside the others for three more hours with short rests and meditation and healing cycles thrown in between the enemy waves. Thanks to the clear sight granted by the light of the torch, he found himself to be much calmer during his fights than before.

When it became obvious that the youth was too tired and weak to go on, Grego ordered him to rest. It was a decision agreed upon by everyone, seeing how he could barely hold his staff up. Despite being grateful, he still felt uneasy being amongst the refugees that were sent to the backlines. He sat on the ground below the ramparts with his pile of loot beside him and it only took him a moment to fall asleep. An unknown time later a firm shake pulled him out of the dark, Norma’s face greeting him as he opened his eyes.

“Did something happen?” He asked as he scrambled onto his feet, but the woman shook her head with a warm smile.

“There’s nothing wrong, but the sun is about to rise.”

“The sun,” Regis mumbled. “How long was I sleeping?”

“A bit more than three hours. We figured you’ve probably passed out due to exceeding yourself with all that magic and fighting, so we let you catch some rest. It’s alright though. The undead had stopped coming and those that stayed have already been culled, so we get to see another day. Now gather your stuff. We’re about get inside and head towards the church. Hopefully we don’t have too many casualties.”

Regis agreed with her and tied all of his loot together with a rope the guards gave him. He moved his tired body forward while carrying a pile of leather and bronze equipment on his back like a short sized pack mule. As he followed the guards, he saw tired and pained faces along the way. Many of the outlanders also survived, but only at the skin of their teeth. Numerous bodies got lined up in front of the ramparts. Most of the corpses bore stab and slash wounds, telling about the suffering they went through before dying. Letting out a deep sigh, he hurried his steps and followed the guards as the first rays of sunshine finally broke through the darkness.

“Would you look at that,” a familiar voice spoke. “The burrow rat actually survived.”

“Of course it did. It probably dug a hole to hide in. Then he became a pack mule for the guards.”

Before Regis could say anything, a burly fist sent the mercenary sprawling on the ground.

“That burrow rat has a name,” Grego said with his fist still in the air. “And he fought through most of the night with us. When your lot was huddling beneath the torches, he volunteered to join us and help cull the archers in the dark. Not to mention that he took down dozens of rotters, including a berserker and a priest.”

“This rat?” the leader of the mercenaries spat some blood on the ground. “I’d sooner believe that the fallen beheaded itself than this useless thing killing them. Now stop wasting our time! The sun’s up and my men are tired. We need to get our earnings and visit the healers.”

The bearded mercenary turned and left, bringing his gang away. Those who stayed behind were the ordinary refugees and a couple of lucky outlanders.

“Don’t listen to them,” Norma patted his shoulder. “Bastards like him can only talk horseshit.”

“I know. We should hurry up though. There are a lot of people heading in and I still have to get my gear fixed. I won’t last another night with these worn pieces.”

“Don’t worry,” another guard said. “Luckily for us; a fair amount of blacksmiths and apprentices ended up in Hunor. They’ll fix up what you need and buy what you don’t. Just don’t expect top prices. These castoff arms and armour are mostly used for parts.”

“If you say so.” The youth shrugged as he watched the mercenaries leave. ’Note to self. Never heal that douchebag. I should also probably help him get chewed on by an undead if possible.’

“Your equipment can wait. We’ll first stop by at the church.” Grego said while going through the opened gates.

When the group of guards walked through the entrance, a wave of crying struck them. The outlanders had no ties here yet, but the refugees that volunteered left behind many to grieve for them. Teary eyed people ran past the tired warriors and knelt beside their dead. Regis didn’t know any of the deceased, but he understood their grief. He followed Norma silently, reaching a large rundown stone building. Its doors were wide open, dozens of guards and mercenaries going in and out of what turned out to be the often mentioned church. As they reached the entrance, a young priestess waved her hands at them.

“There you are,” the priestess hugged Norma. “I was getting worried when all these injured people flooded the temple. Are you hurt? Did you receive your rations already? I still have some of mine from yesterday, if you’re hungry.”

‘I’m fine Lithia,” Norma hugged the young woman. “I have a few cuts here and there, but most of them have already been taken care of. Our team was placed on the far left, so we had it easy this time. We also had the luck of having a young lad with healing magic in our group, so everyone’s mostly fine.

“Oh,” the young woman sighed relieved. “I’m glad to hear that. The others have been busy taking care of the rest of the guards and refugees since the gates were re-opened, but enough about that. I'll take a look at your group immediately."

“Just you?” Norma asked worried. “Won’t that be too much for you?”

“I’ll be fine,” the brown haired lass waved her hand. “Sadly, I’ve had enough chance to practice the healing prayers, so I’ve been able to further my healing powers a lot since yesterday.”

“If that’s so,” Grego laughed. “Then you have our gratitude! We’re lucky to have you taking care of us.”

“Stop your flattery and get in line. The faster I’ll heal you the more sleep you can get.” She chided.

The worn-out guards quickly formed a line and Lithia began to cast her healing prayers. Regis stood at the end of the line, quietly observing as the many cuts and bruises got mended by a warm golden light. He had to admit that his own healing spell had nothing on the divinity fuelled version. When it was about to be his turn, the priestess looked at him curiously.

“And who are you, little one?” She asked.

“I forgot to introduce you,” Norma stepped next to them. “This fledgling is Regis. He fought by our side during the night. Don’t let his cute face trick you. He killed dozens fallen and he’s also the fellow with the healing magic I’ve mentioned before.”

“Really now?”

“It wasn’t as bad as she says. Your mother just wants to make it sound more heroic.”

“Mother,” Lithia chuckled. “She’s not my mother. She’s my sister.”

“She’s your sister?” The dark elf looked at her puzzled by lack of wrinkles on Lithia while her sister looked like she was decades older. “But you barely seem as old as me.”

“Flatterer,” the priestess giggled slightly. “I’m already late for marriage and as a priestess, my family is the church.”

“I’m sorry,” Regis apologized. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. You just seem very young is all.”

If looks could kill, he would have already bled to death by the daggers the rest of the group stared at him.

“Enough of your silver tongue,” Norma slapped him in the back. “Just sit down and let her have a look at your wounds. I know you’ve patched up whatever you could, but it’s always good to have a priestess cleanse any shadow taint that could stick around.”

The group turned around and walked toward the pedestals at the back end of the church to pay their respects while Regis sat down on the wooden stool.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve had to go through to end up with these wounds. Most of the cuts and bruises are already healed, but this stab wound on your leg must have been a torture for you to walk around with. Your shoulder wound is also only healed on the surface. You also seem to have a few dark spots where your magic healed the wound but couldn’t destroy the shadow taint completely. Sit still! This will take only a little while.”

Lithia quietly chanted her prayers as the warm light seeped out of her palm, erasing the remainder of the young man’s injuries one by one. The warmth of the light felt akin to the morning sun and he could barely stifle a moan as his tired bones and joints popped back into their proper place. Barely a minute or two later he was left without any scars remaining from last nights battles.

“You really are a better healer than me,” he praised. “No wonder that priests and priestesses are so important. Speaking of important, I have a question to ask.”

“What do you want to know? If it’s about the church, then I can answer your questions."

“Alright,” Regis nodded. “When I was helping your sister’s group, I was attacked by a fallen priest. After I’ve defeated it, a crystal appeared as its corpse withered. At first I thought it to be a skill crystal and wanted to use it, but after touching it, I’ve found out that it was a dark one. What I want to ask is whether you have some way to destroy it. I’ve tried to break it with a mace, but it was pointless.”

“Don’t worry,” Lithia waved her hand dismissively. “Every member of the church knows how to fight such darkness. Just give me the stone and I’ll destroy it immediately.”

Regis did as asked and removed the cloth strip from the black crystal, but the moment Lithia touched it, she screamed.

“What happened?” The temple guards asked as one, drawing their weapons.

They ran toward the priestess, pointing their weapons at the young dark elf.

“What did you do, bastard?” Their leader asked as he pointed his sword’s tip at Regis’ neck.

“Call Father Steon,” Lithia said. “And leave Regis be. He’s not at fault here.”

“But…”

“I said go! This is of outmost importance.”

“What’s this ruckus about?” An aged voice called out to them.

As the crowd turned around, a white haired old man walked towards them, heavily leaning on his cane.

“Lithia my child,” the elderly man spoke. “What scared you to such extent that you’d scream for me?”

“Father Steon,” she said. “This young elf is Regis. He fought against the fallen last night and defeated a lost brother of the church. He gained a crystal, but he brought it here to get it destroyed. I wanted to do it, but it’s…”

The priestess stuttered as she pointed at the half-wrapped stone. Father Steon reached out to touch the crystal himself, pulling his hand away in disgust.

“Necromancy,” His words echoed through the temple. “To think, that you’ve found one of the three banned paths’ inheritance at the hands of our fallen brethren. We must cleanse this shame and destroy that abomination immediately! Join me everyone. Let us rid the land from this dark stain of the church!”

The old priest took the wrapped crystal and placed it on the wooden stool. Several priests and priestesses joined him and began to pray their chant as a warm light surrounded the black stone. It let out creaking sounds as black smoke rose from it, burning away in the pure light. The crystal shrunk and crumbled into dust under the purifying spell, leaving nothing behind. When it was over, the old priest seemed to be relieved as he turned back to the elven youth.

“I thank you in the name of all members of the Church of the Seven Paths for helping us rid the land of one more evil. I know that in times like these, the allure of power is even stronger, but you did the right thing. Whichever of the seven you follow, I know that they’ll be proud of you.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” Regis shook his head. “Even I know better than to turn towards something that dark. I’m also new around here, so I don’t follow anyone yet.”

His words earned him dozens of disbelieving looks from the crowd. Even the old priest couldn’t hide his surprised expression.

“Are you truly an un-absolved? How can you bear a Shardwaker’s mark without the blessing of any of the seven?”

“I’ve got this by accident,” he raised his mark up. “And as I’ve said; I’m new on these lands. This is my first time in a temple like this one. And besides; to most people dark elves seem to be nothing but filthy burrow rats. Do you think that they would have let me in here if not for Norma?”

Father Steon’s aged face softened as he looked at the young dark elf. It was indeed unlikely for him to be able to make it inside any of the churches before. The elderly man knew it all too well, just how bad the people’s views were when it came to dark elves. He shook his head and patted the young man’s shoulder.

“You are here now,” he said. “And no one will chase you out. If you want to make an offering to any of the seven, then go ahead and do so. I’m sure they will bless you after proving yourself.”

“I’m not really familiar with your deities.” Regis scratched his head while looking at the statues.

“Don’t worry,” Lithia chuckled. “I’ll tell you about them, so you can make your choice.”

“Good,” Steon nodded. “The rest of you should get back to your duties.”