A Desperate Escape and a Reckless Decision

The nun’s screams drew the attention of other townspeople and monks. Edith was just about to take Daphne outside to investigate what was happening.

Suddenly, several male monks carried a blood-soaked man into the church, supporting him under his armpits.

Edith gasped softly. She whispered in alarm, “It’s Mr. Ian, he’s so badly injured!”

Daphne peered out from behind Edith, catching sight of the gray-haired middle-aged man. A deep, bloody gash marred his forehead, and the wound on his left shoulder was so severe that bone was visible.

Blood streamed down his face and body, yet he clung to life by a thread.

Though horrifying, the sight didn’t truly faze Daphne. Having transmigrated here thirty years prior, she had witnessed her share of gruesome scenes.

Although Ian’s injuries were profound, none appeared immediately fatal. The only potential life-threatening factor seemed to be excessive blood loss.

Based on Daphne’s experience, the man’s forehead wound was a knife cut, while the one on his shoulder was an arrow wound. Fortunately, the arrow hadn’t pierced his body, merely grazing his shoulder.

The unfortunate part was that the arrowhead had cleanly sliced off a chunk of flesh.

Clearly, Beastmen were responsible once more.

Daphne suspected it was the Ungor Raiders, those inferior horned beasts who broke away from the main herd for reconnaissance and harassment.

The vast Beastman herd of the Norsca region remained hidden deep within the dense forest. These smaller creatures, with their malformed or broken goat-like horns, were the primary attackers of travelers.

Their status within the herd was low. To avoid abuse and torment, they treated their human enemies with extreme cunning and cruelty, all to prove their worth to the Gors and the Beastlords.

Compared to the towering, muscular Gors, Ungors were scrawny and weak. Yet, they knew to prey on the weaker.

They were adept at setting traps and hunting in ambushes. For travelers venturing through the woods, these creatures were equally perilous and deadly.

In ‘COG,’ Ungors roaming outside the main herd were essentially “experience fodder” for players. Early-game fetch quests requiring players to defeat a certain number of monsters often featured them as disposable enemies.

To the Beastman herd itself, Ungors were cannon fodder and slaves. Their deaths were inconsequential; the loss of one or two would go entirely unnoticed.

In other words, if Daphne wished to fill her experience pool and rapidly advance her class level, these Ungors would likely be her ideal opponents.

For now, the man’s life was paramount. However, it wasn’t her place to worry about it.

With urgent yet unhurried movements, Edith pulled out a linen cloth and spread it in the center of the church hall. “Quickly, lay Mr. Ian flat here. Be gentle.”

She then turned to the nuns behind her. “Bring the gauze, alcohol, and hemostatic ointment. We must stop the bleeding immediately, or his life will be in danger.”

Everyone instinctively followed Edith’s instructions. They laid the injured man flat.

Edith immediately knelt beside him, pressing her palms together and closing her eyes.

“Beloved and great Vatitaya, your radiance is fervent yet gentle, bringing new life and blessings wherever it shines,” she recited the prayer with humble devotion.

A blinding, crimson corona slowly materialized behind the golden-haired maiden. A gentle warmth gradually diffused into the surrounding air, dispelling the chill of winter along with it.

The man’s tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly. His pain seemed to be easing.

This was ‘Coronal Prayer,’ an initial spell from the Path of Radiance. Clerics gained an additional bonus when casting this skill.

When cast on enemies, it inflicted radiant damage; on allies, it restored life and removed negative effects.

Yet, this was the real world, not a game. Ordinary prayers did not directly heal wounds; they could only soothe the injured person’s senses and slow the rate of blood loss.

Moreover, Vatitaya herself was not a deity renowned for healing. That domain belonged to Mayekase, the Goddess of Nature. Her followers could even reattach severed limbs.

The man seemed to slowly regain consciousness within the corona’s glow. The moment his eyes opened, he tried to sit up, but Edith quickly and firmly pressed him back down.

“Please lie still, Mr. Ian. I need to tend to your wounds now,” Edith said softly.

“No… Mathew and the others won’t last long… I—” Ian tried to speak, but Edith cut him off again.

“Please be quiet, Mr. Ian.” Edith met Ian’s gaze calmly. Her tone was gentle, yet held an undeniable seriousness.

“Injured people shouldn’t talk too much. The bleeding will be stopped in a few minutes, and your escape won’t be in vain.”

Two junior nuns quickly brought the medical supplies Edith needed. Edith took the gauze, alcohol, and ointment.

She then looked up at them and said, “Go to the Templars’ garrison and ask how long it would take them to prepare for departure, starting now.”

“Yes, alright.” The junior nuns exchanged glances, then nodded in unison.

Daphne watched them scurry out of the church. Yet, she knew perfectly well that they wouldn’t bring back good news.

This was a special period; almost all the Templars were outside the town. A portion, led by Commander Arvis, had gone south to visit various towns in Norsca.

Another contingent, under Deputy Commander Gwynevere, was deep in the dense mountains, searching for the missing Pope Bertram. The rest were largely injured, sick, or those with special circumstances, remaining in town to recuperate.

While they could forcibly prepare for battle, bound by the oaths they had sworn to the Goddess, the time required for such preparations would clearly not be brief.

Ian had broken through an Ungor encirclement to escape. He had rushed back desperately to seek help for everyone in Kohl Town. The situation was undoubtedly critical, and every second counted.

Daphne didn’t believe Edith was unaware of this. But this was all Edith could do.

Edith placed a piece of cotton cloth into Ian’s mouth for him to bite down on. Then, she began to clean his wounds and disinfect them with alcohol.

Despite clenching his jaw, the man couldn’t help but emit terrible muffled groans. All onlookers couldn’t help but worry for Edith.

Yet, Edith’s gaze remained steadfast. Her movements were entirely unaffected, still skillfully and swiftly wiping and applying.

“Just a little longer, Mr. Ian. It will be over soon.” Edith’s tone remained gentle and warm.

She gently wiped away the sweat and blood from the man’s forehead with the cotton cloth. Then, she applied the ointment to the wound.

The man gritted his teeth in pain, but he still didn’t release the cotton cloth to cry out.

Finally, it was time for bandaging.

Fortunately, the arrowhead hadn’t embedded itself in the wound. Otherwise, they would surely have had to hold Ian down, cut open the wound, and extract it.

The church had often been splattered with blood recently, and Edith was usually the attending doctor.

“Where are Mr. Mathew and the others? Where were you attacked?” Edith still held Ian’s shoulders, preventing him from sitting up.

“Just lie down and tell us where it happened. Everyone will find a way.”

Ian didn’t need to elaborate. The moment Edith saw his severe injuries and urgent expression, she roughly understood what had transpired.

Daphne also had some recollection of the man. They seemed to be a small merchant caravan, specializing in transporting goods between villages and towns. As Beastman activity grew more frequent, their work had become increasingly perilous.

“It was Oliver… on the road from Oliver Village to town…” Ian’s voice trembled, his eyes bloodshot as he stared blankly at the church ceiling.

“I originally wanted to turn back and find Her Highness, the Saintess, but my horse was hit by an arrow and spooked… I could only flee towards the town.”

“Her Highness, the Saintess, is in Oliver?” Daphne felt a surge of surprise.

“My sister mentioned to me that she was going there to officiate a cremation ceremony.” Edith hastily wiped her blood- and medicine-stained hands with a towel.

She then rose to her feet. “If the Templars can’t prepare in time, then I will go myself. Besides, treating wounds on the spot offers a greater chance of survival.”

Daphne froze where she stood. This wasn’t just because of Edith’s reckless decision; it was also because Gwynevere might perform a second examination of the body.

Although she had tampered with Ellenore’s corpse, she couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be discovered. After all, a mysteriously appearing corpse would certainly raise suspicions.

However, with so many eyes fixed on the small grave mound at the time, Daphne truly had no better option.

‘Is this… about to go sideways again?’