Damned Healer

"Darian, I'll back you up with everything I've got." Remira turned to him, locking eyes. "In this sect we've got a lot of high-level techniques to absorb chaos power. I even made one myself that was really good. After all, my mom's a Soul Eater and I inherited her talent for messing with souls. Only the sect leaders use it though, 'cause without rare and specific resources it's got some weird side effects… but I feel like you can handle it, and it'll be useful."

"W-what… this… no, it can't be…" Murral tried to speak, but couldn't string proper words together.

That technique was the sect's greatest treasure and deepest secret. Only the leader, after reading it, learned the truth — and quickly realized it had to stay top secret.

It needed very specific resources that only existed in one place. If word got out, enemies would crush the sect much faster. All it would take is blocking them from getting that resource for a single generation, and the sect would be seriously weakened.

"Oh? You like my technique? Hehehe, I know it's amazing." Remira laughed, satisfied with the leader's reaction.

Darian gave a faint smile; this woman was the definition of spoiled and proud.

It took Murral a few minutes to calm down. Then he stood from his chair and knelt before them.

"This old man begs for the help of the ancestor and the missionary," he said, then looked solemnly at both of them.

Darian gestured for him to get up quickly. "Just call me Darian. We're here for that. But first, what's your plan?"

He took a deep breath, nodding. "I believe that with your methods and wisdom, you'll have the ability to deal with the current crisis…"

The man had a firm gaze, a calm, unshakable presence that made him seem mysterious. That's why Darian hesitated to believe someone like him could really be helpless in this situation.

Darian wasn't even thirty yet, and he knew he wasn't exactly some genius. He wasn't stupid either, so he wanted to hear the plans of someone experienced.

Murral calmly continued:

"Restoring the structure means nothing if what's underneath is rotten. You can't save a city by cleaning its streets if the people inside are corrupt at their core. My talent isn't enough to break through realms or change anything… what we need isn't a temporary leader, but a hero — a true architect of a new era. Someone who can rebuild our morals, unite the people, and forge a new path for everyone. This hero will be like a beacon of light, able to guide lost souls back home and purify all the darkness. An old man like me is bound to the past. That's why we need a new seed of hope, something pure and full of life to bring us victory."

Darian nodded. As expected from that wise leader, his words were moving… too bad he'd picked the wrong person twice already. Still, Darian didn't mind pretending to be grand; the important thing was winning in the end.

"Alright, I don't have a plan yet. And I'm still too weak and need resources. For now, let's stick with this route," Darian said casually.

"Thank you for trusting me," Murral said, almost overjoyed. Then he nodded and handed him a golden emblem.

"Oh! That was my vice-leader emblem. With that, you can do whatever you want in the sect, no need to care about the rules," Remira said with a grin. "C'mon, now we can really show off! I bet there's a bunch of people waiting outside to be put in their place."

Darian stared at her excited smile, thoughtful.

She didn't really seem to hold grudges; she just wanted to have fun. She was spoiled and troublesome, but she had her good sides: she didn't fake things, and she didn't let herself get corrupted. If she regained her power, she'd probably beat everyone up, but wouldn't kill anyone.

Of course, she had no idea there really were lots of traitors. If she knew, she'd definitely kill them.

In the end, she wasn't evil — just dumb sometimes, causing lots of problems.

Darian turned to Murral, thought for a bit, and understood exactly what he wanted. It was simple: first, he needed to put on a show. Be the beacon to draw in the moths.

"Let's go." Darian took the emblem and left with Remira at his side.

The leader smiled ear to ear, but didn't follow them, 'cause he knew what was coming.

They walked slowly. Then, as soon as they passed through the gates, they were surrounded by a crowd.

"Time for you to show off!" Remira crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at the hostile group.

The area in front of the gates was already packed; there was no way through. Clearly, they'd come to argue with Leader Murral.

Darian stared at the crowd, surprised. There were over a thousand of them at level 9 of the Dark Saint realm — the same level as the Leader. With that many on the same level, it was really hard to stand above them.

But then he got it: just like the leader said, in times of crisis, people are pushed hard. And so, many powerful ones are born. Even at the sect's lowest point, this was probably the generation with the most figures at that level gathered together.

They all glared at Darian.

By killing people at the entrance, he'd enraged them. It looked like they wouldn't accept the situation and would demand justice no matter what.

All twelve deans were gathered. They were the oldest in the sect and had a special status, made to be able to check the Leader and stop him from doing whatever he wanted all the time. They were there to force him to hand Darian over.

Not all of them had dense karma, but clearly killing people inside the sect and walking away unpunished was an affront to tradition. For old men like that, rules and rituals were sacred — they couldn't allow it.

Seeing their arrogance, Remira sneered: "Boss, don't they deserve a beating?"

There was a lot packed into her words. Their arrogance was so huge that they looked fragile and defenseless; it'd been so long since they'd been through the desert and the Wild World that there wasn't a trace of a real warrior left.

From that distance, if Darian attacked, he'd make sure those people didn't even have a chance to defend themselves before dying.

That was clearly the result of living in comfort inside the sect while others fought the war and died for them. They'd lost any sense of danger. To be blunt, they were a bunch of old fools.

"Where's the Leader? Why hasn't he come out?" asked one of the deans, leaning on a cane.

Darian answered indifferently, "He won't come out, because all his business can be handled by me."

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, KID!" Dean Zlark bellowed angrily.

Darian just stared at him. At that moment, the man felt the same elemental fluctuation again.

"!"

Suddenly he was filled with enormous dread and his body reacted instinctively, bracing for an exaggerated defense.

"..."

But nothing happened.

"Hahahahaha... come on, old man, don't tell me you're gonna piss yourself in fear too, right?" Remira laughed and mocked him without hesitation.

Everyone turned to Zlark, finding him kind of ridiculous. He protected his face with his arms, his whole body wrapped in ultra-defensive armor, and he was pumping his chaos power to the max. That young guy was only level 1, so the fear looked baseless.

Suddenly, Darian raised the emblem for everyone to see. When they saw the badge, they were stunned.

"Vice-Leader?!"

They didn't dare believe it. That rank was effectively equal to the Leader's, used when the Leader wanted to delegate his position. After ten years, via a test and evaluation, the holder could be promoted to permanent Leader. That was a rule everyone in the sect knew.

Remira turned to Darian, disappointed. She wanted some action!

Seeing her face, Darian snorted — it wasn't the time to show real power yet, or they'd run.

"That's definitely fake!" shouted one dean, refusing to accept it.

"Fake? Why don't you try making a fake and let me see?" Remira taunted with scorn.

"You bitch, you can't do anything and you're clinging to a man. Don't get too pleased yet!" Suddenly General Lachlan yelled and stepped forward.

Darian smiled — the moth had been drawn in.

"Hahaha... just because the Boss is a strong, cool guy and we're allies, I automatically become a bitch? Men are so simple," Remira replied disdainfully. "And if I'm pleased, so what? Gonna try to bite me?"

"I refuse to accept him as vice-leader. According to sect rules, if a General doesn't like the vice-leader, he can challenge him to a duel. He must prove his worth! Do you dare accept my challenge?" Lachlan roared, glaring at Darian.

"Fine. But I just arrived, so we'll fight in seven days." Darian said with no emotion, then turned to Remira, "What are the rules?"

Her eyes sparkled like blue stars, and she answered quickly: "By the rules, a General and the Vice-Leader duel showing their individual power and that of their vassals. Both need to be able to lead and train powerful armies — individual strength isn't everything, after all."

Darian nodded.

"That's right! It'll be a one-on-one battle, but involving the commanders and, in the end, the general or future leader of the sect. It's a do-or-die fight! In seven days, at the sect's central arena!" Lachlan shouted loudly and fast so everyone nearby heard clearly — and so there'd be no backing out.