The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-81

Chapter 81: Saint (Part 4)

When Vikir arrived at the clinic, where only severe patients were gathered, the Clergy’ reactions were as follows:

“This is not a place for non-professionals.”

“You can get infected, so leave immediately!”

“Need help? We don’t need any more interference!”

However, as Vikir began to scold and instruct while walking among the patients, the expressions of the Clergy changed.

“Isn’t this too much for a blessing?”

Vikir said to the cleric using sacred power on the red spots on a patient’s leg.

In general, clergy members prayed to God, requesting a portion of His power, which they then used to reproduce heavenly phenomena on Earth.

To simplify, clergy members asked God for power, God accepted it, and the clergy members received that power, using it to heal patients. If the patient believed in the same deity, a kind of guarantee was formed during the process of requesting power from God, and the healing effect was amplified. In other words, if two believers in the same deity worked together, they could draw even more sacred power.

The more devout and faithful the clergy member or patient was through continuous religious practices, deepening their communion with God, the more effective this process was. This was similar to the relationship between a bank’s credit rating and loans.

However…

Vikir knew.

A clergy member with one sacred power could perform the miracle of someone with ten sacred powers, and a clergy member with ten sacred powers could perform the miracle of someone with one hundred sacred powers.

“…There’s a concept called ‘short selling.'”

It was a fraudulent method that the clergy members living in the era of destruction had found to make up for their always insufficient sacred power. In trading terms, “short selling” meant “selling something you don’t have.” In other words, it meant selling something in advance and then buying it back later to make a profit.

When the era of destruction arrived, countless demons and more patients than that wreaked havoc in the human world. The gods became even more desperate.

This was when the clergy members began to awaken. They started to use sacred power excessively, far beyond what they would normally dare to use.

Even with empty mana channels, they could still use sacred power. They acted first, producing miracles, and then saw what happened.

The sacred power used in advance, even if it meant adding interest later, was drawn upon immediately.

Creating sacred power from nothing and using it, followed by a journey of repaying it through devout religious activities.

Some called it “sacred power loans,” some called it “sacred power short selling,” and some even called it “sacred power debt” with a hint of self-deprecation.

Moreover, not only clergy members but also those who had killed many demons were able to use a small amount of sacred power. This was because killing demons and accumulating experience points were considered a form of religious activity in those times.

Vikir had killed countless demons, and the resulting experience points were securely accumulated in his soul.

This remained true even after his regression.

Therefore, the current Vikir was the only being capable of using sacred power despite not being a cleric.

However, there were some limitations to using sacred power for those who were not Rune Religion’s members. It was limited to use within a sacred territory, such as the territory of the QuaVadis family, where it could be called a sacred space.

Vikir approached a moaning patient and reached out his hand.

…Splat!

A faint sacred power began to heal the patient’s body.

The Clergy who saw Vikir using sacred power rushed over with widened eyes.

It was the first time they had seen someone who wasn’t a QuaVadis family clergy member using sacred power. Furthermore, Vikir was extremely efficient in using sacred power.

“This, too, is something I learned during the era of destruction,” Vikir muttered.

The Clergy were treating the surging patients as if they were insane. Vikir had learned a method to use sacred power beyond their shoulders.

In fact, it was a simple method. It involved making an incision with a scalpel and directly infusing sacred power into the areas with primary injuries. Using miracles on the skin or blessing from a distance wasted a considerable amount of sacred power. It was far more efficient to concentrate sacred power on the source of pain.

Vikir took a scalpel and made small incisions around the red spots and let the flowing blood carry the sacred power into the patient’s body. In the Quavadis sacred territory, Vikir had access to a significant amount of sacred power. However, since he wasn’t a cleric, he couldn’t use it for an extended period.

Clergy who witnessed Vikir’s miracles and guidance began to gather around her one by one. The survival technique that could be used by anyone during the era of destruction was considered unprecedented and remarkable here.

Furthermore, the astonishment of the Clergy was far from over. Vikir was also delaying the onset of the disease among the patients by blending various herbs he had collected from the Black Mountains during his two years of survival. This was a skill he had learned from the Ballak Warriors.

While it couldn’t prevent the epidemic, it could at least delay the outbreak and alleviate some suffering. The unknown recipe and ingredients created a medication that reduced the patients’ fever and moaning.

In this way, Vikir moved among the patients, enduring their insults and tantrums, calmly and silently caring for everyone. Of course, there were reasons for his actions.

First, to instill faith in the QuaVadis clergy; second, to transport the essence of the sacred water he created to his fellow clergy members; and third, out of remorse for those who had become ill as a result of him.

“…”

Everyone watched in awe as Vikir worked his miracles with half-opened mouths.

Then, a child’s voice pierced the silence.

“Waaah! Mom! Mom!”

A child was shaking a woman lying down, crying. While red spots had appeared on the woman’s body, they were still pale. The problem was that her body was inherently weak, making her condition precarious even with such a mild illness.

Vikir placed his hand on the child’s head and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll heal your mother right away.”

With those words, Vikir removed the illness from the woman’s body. Additionally, he reached into his pocket, grabbed some gold coins, and handed them to the child.

“It’s an illness, but malnutrition seems severe. Use this to buy food and firewood to take care of your mother.”

The child, with tears and a runny nose, lowered his head in gratitude.

Soon, after witnessing the child receiving money, many patients crowded around Vikir, extending their hands, and asking for money. A chaotic scene unfolded, with everyone demanding money.

At that moment, one of the Clergy, bewildered, spoke to Vikir.

“No, material help won’t do! There’s no limit! You’ll end up giving away all your money!” one of the Clergy protested.

Vikir nodded as if it didn’t bother him at all. “Why shouldn’t there be a limit? There’s definitely a limit to the money in my pocket. Just give it all away.”

With those words, Vikir distributed all the money to the patients and their families. He didn’t hesitate to empty his pocket and then returned to his medical work without any regrets.

Seeing this, the Clergy and those around them were left in shock once again. Dolores was among them.

She stared at Vikir’s broad back, reminiscing about what had happened earlier. The young men who had flattered her appearance. They proudly flaunted their noble status and immense wealth, generously donating money and relief supplies to the poor.

However, their attitudes were haughty and they secretly despised and scorned the poor. In contrast, what about Vikir? He had emptied his pockets without hesitation, even though the amount wasn’t substantial. It was a true act of charity and sacrifice.

The Bible had a reason to suggest that the charity of a beggar donating one bowl was nobler than a rich man donating a thousand gold coins.

Dolores thought silently. In a place where filth and disease were rampant, this man was helping his less fortunate neighbors more diligently than anyone else. A man who seemed to have lived on the frontlines of fierce battles, with the aura of a pilgrim, a savior, and a prophet.

A man who had a resilient body but harbored a soul that was unexpectedly sad and lonely. A man who referred to himself as a hunting dog but held a lost and weary puppy within.

A man who wept and bled with his soul. Where on earth had he come from?

Suddenly, Dolores remembered a line he had mumbled not long ago with a closed throat.

“Theology is inherently the process of understanding humanity, so this is inevitable.”

And in that moment…

Thump! Her heartbeat surged, and her blood flowed rapidly. Her heart dropped to a lower point and then returned. Sister Dolores, the still young and inexperienced sixteen-year-old girl, felt her chest beating fast.

Her face turned towards the man she didn’t even know.