Elshua's body was a tapestry of pain, each bruise and scrape screaming as he stumbled along the stream's edge.
The adrenaline that had fueled his escape from the skitterbeasts had evaporated, leaving him hollow, his legs trembling like reeds in a storm.
His bare foot throbbed, caked in mud and stinging from countless tiny cuts. His torn tunic hung in tatters, barely clinging to his scrawny frame, and every step sent a jolt through his ribs, where he'd crashed into the outcrop during his frantic flight.
The forest was quieter now, the skitterbeasts defeated and the high demon's roar a distant echo, but the silence only amplified his exhaustion. The stream gurgled beside him, its gentle flow mocking his battered state.
Eldenreach was close—he could see the faint glow of lanterns through the trees—but his body was failing, each breath a labored rasp.
He staggered to a halt, collapsing against a gnarled tree, its bark rough against his bruised shoulder. The cool wood was a lifeline, grounding him as his vision blurred.
"Just… a second," he panted, sliding down to sit at the tree's base, his legs splaying out like a broken puppet's.
The system hadn't pinged since his escape, and he welcomed the quiet—no glowing windows, no cryptic hints, just the chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the night breeze.
His eyelids drooped, pain fading into a dull hum as exhaustion dragged him under. He didn't resist. A quick rest might give him the strength to limp to Eldenreach. He leaned his head back, the tree's roots cradling him, and slipped into sleep.
In his dreams, he was Jun again, back in his college dorm, the air thick with the scent of instant noodles and worn books.
The room was cramped, the bed creaking as he hunched over a philosophy textbook, highlighter in hand. Rain tapped the window, a familiar rhythm from his old life. Money was always tight.
He'd skipped meals to afford a bus pass, his stomach growling as he scribbled notes for a class he could barely focus on. The scene shifted to the convenience store, fluorescent lights buzzing as he scanned groceries, the register's beep a constant drone.
An old woman, a regular with a kind smile, slipped him an apple, and he'd thanked her, voice soft, embarrassed. He'd given half to a coworker who'd forgotten lunch, because that's who Jun was—always sharing, even when it left him hungry.
The dream blurred, fragments of late-night study sessions, tutoring kids at the community center, their laughter echoing, and the weight of always giving, never receiving. It was a hard life, but it was his.
A sharp shout jolted him awake. Elshua's eyes snapped open, heart lurching as he gasped, the dream dissolving like smoke.
The forest was brighter, dawn's light filtering through the trees, painting the leaves in soft gold. Voices—human voices—rang out, mixed with the clank of metal and the crunch of boots on leaves.
He tried to stand, but his body refused, legs buckling with a groan of pain. His bruises pulsed, his ankle swollen, and his head throbbed from exhaustion.
He clung to the tree, blinking to clear his vision, and saw them: a group of figures approaching, their silhouettes gleaming in the dawn.
They were knights, clad in silver and gold armor that shimmered like polished mirrors. Their breastplates bore intricate sigils, and their cloaks billowed, embroidered with a crest Elshua didn't recognize—a lion encircled by stars.
There were dozens, perhaps a hundred, moving with disciplined precision, swords sheathed but hands ready. Their faces were a storm of emotions: joy, relief, and a simmering rage as they took in his battered state—bruises blooming purple across his arms, his tunic in shreds, his bare foot caked in blood and mud.
The murmurs started, low and heated: "Three years, and this is how we find His Holiness?"
"Who dared leave the Spark in such a state?"
"Demons or men, they'll pay for this!"
Elshua's mind raced. Three years? The novel hadn't mentioned any history for Elshua beyond being an abandoned outcast who died in chapter one.
These knights knew him, revered him as "His Holiness," and were furious at his condition. But he had no idea who they were or what they expected.
The system hadn't warned him about this, and his fragmented memories—flashes of hunger and cold—offered no answers. As the knights drew closer, their movements slowed, as if time itself paused to honor the moment.
A young man stepped forward, his armor less ornate but worn with authority. He was about fifteen, tall, with sharp features and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see through Elshua.
His dark curls were damp with dew, and his expression was a tangle of relief and fury, his jaw tight as he took in Elshua's state. The other knights parted for him, their armor clanking softly, their faces radiant with devotion.
Elshua stared, too exhausted to move, slumped against the tree like a broken doll.
The young man approached, his boots crunching, and stopped a few feet away. He removed his gauntlets with deliberate care, the leather creaking, and knelt before Elshua.
Without warning, he pulled him into a gentle hug, his arms trembling as they wrapped around Elshua's frail frame. Elshua froze, his bruised body stiffening at the touch, but he kept his face neutral, masking the confusion swirling in his mind.
The knight's voice was low, choked with tears. "Your Holiness, you're alive. Gods, you're alive. After three years… we thought the demons took you."
He pulled back, tears streaming, and kept talking, words tumbling out. "The monastery burned, the priests betrayed, and you vanished. We searched every village, every forest. To find you like this… who did this to you?"
Elshua's mind spun. Monastery? Betrayal? He had no context for this, no memory of Elshua's past beyond the novel's brief mention of an outcast's death.
The system had called him the Bearer of the Divine Spark, but this knight's words painted a picture of a child with a grand destiny, lost for three years.
He needed to play along to avoid suspicion, especially with the knights' rage simmering like a storm. His exhaustion gave him an idea—a half-truth to buy time.
"I… I don't remember," he rasped.
His voice hoarse from pain and thirst, keeping his expression blank despite the discomfort of being pulled onto the knight's lap, Caelan's arms still wrapped around him.
"It's all… blurry. The forest, the monsters… I don't know how I got here."
Caelan's eyes softened, though the anger didn't fade. "You've suffered too much, Your Holiness," he said, his voice steadying.
"I'm Caelan, your friend and sworn protector. Your memory will return. For now, let me ease your pain."
He placed a hand on Elshua's shoulder, and a warm golden light flowed from his palm, enveloping Elshua's body. The bruises faded, the cuts on his foot closed, and the ache in his ribs melted away, the sensation soothing yet surreal.
Elshua's eyes widened, but he kept his face neutral, ignoring Caelan's touchy grip as the knight adjusted him on his lap, one arm still around his waist. Caelan's divine power was like his own Heal skill, but stronger, more practiced.
"You're a healer?" Elshua asked, then bit his tongue, hoping he hadn't slipped up. Caelan nodded, his expression reverent.
"A paladin of Aeloria," Caelan said. "My power is but a shadow of yours, Your Holiness. The Spark of Aeloria… you were the monastery's light before it fell."
His voice hardened. "Those who left you in this state will face justice."
Elshua's stomach twisted. The Spark of Aeloria? The novel mentioned it in passing, a prophecy about a divine figure to challenge darkness, but he'd thought it was just a title, not a role with history and reverence.
The knights' devotion was unwavering, their murmurs full of adoration: "His Holiness lives!"
"The Spark endures!"
"We'll avenge this outrage."
Elshua realized he was in deeper trouble than he'd thought. He had allies who saw him as a holy figure, but also a past he couldn't recall, and their expectations were a weight he wasn't ready to carry.
The system pinged softly, a golden window appearing in his vision:
༺═════════════════༻
System Notification: Allies Encountered!
Objective Updated: Reach Eldenreach with the Knights of Aeloria.
༺═════════════════༻
⟪Note: The Spark of Aeloria carries a legacy of hope and sacrifice. Your feigned amnesia protects you, but seek the truth of your past, Saint Elshua.⟫
He glanced at the text, relieved it was invisible to the knights. His lie about memory loss had worked, and their faith in him as the Spark was unshaken, but it was a fragile shield.
Caelan shifted, pulling Elshua closer on his lap, his touch overly familiar but well-meaning. Elshua kept his face blank, ignoring the discomfort, though his mind screamed to get some personal space.
"We're taking you to Eldenreach, Your Holiness," Caelan said, signaling the knights. "Form a perimeter. The demons are near, and the Spark must be protected."
The knights moved, their armor clanking, swords drawn as they spread out.
Elshua leaned into Caelan's support, his legs still weak despite the healing, letting himself be guided as if it were natural.
The forest thinned, and Eldenreach emerged: stone houses with thatched roofs, a wooden palisade, and lanterns casting a warm glow. Villagers gathered, their whispers rising as they saw Elshua.
"His Holiness, the Spark!" one cried, and others echoed, their voices thick with reverence.
Elshua's skin prickled. He was no holy figure, just a college kid in a child's body, but these people saw a savior.
Caelan carried him to an inn, its sign creaking in the breeze, still holding him close as they entered. The air inside smelled of stew and ale, warm and comforting.
The knights settled Elshua on a bench, though Caelan kept him on his lap, one arm draped protectively around him. Elshua maintained his neutral expression, ignoring the awkwardness.
A healer—a stout woman with gentle hands—hurried over, clucking at his remaining scrapes.
"Even with Sir Caelan's healing, you're a sight, Your Holiness," she said, applying a salve that stung.
Elshua winced, wishing he could use his own Heal, but it was for allies only. Caelan's eyes never left him, his grip firm but gentle.
"Rest here, Your Holiness," he said. "We'll guard you. But when you're ready, we need to know what you recall. The demons grow bolder, and as the Spark, they'll seek you."
Elshua nodded, his mind racing. He had allies who revered him, a title, and powers he could use only for others, but also a past he didn't know and a demon still out there.
The system's window lingered, a reminder of his role as a saint. He'd survived chapter one, reached Eldenreach, but the real challenge was unraveling Elshua's past while playing the holy figure they expected.
For now, he'd keep up the amnesiac act, leaning on Caelan's faith—however touchy—and search for answers, one careful step at a time.