Chapter 375 - Looking into the dark past! (7)

The manor of Bishop Truce rose like a sanctified fortress.

Not grand in the radiant way of the cathedral—but imposing, severe.

High walls of pale stone enclosed the estate, etched with holy sigils that glowed faintly even in daylight. Iron gates reinforced with divine inscriptions stood tall and unyielding, guarded by armored knights whose polished breastplates reflected the sky like cold mirrors.

Inside, the grounds were immaculate.

Trimmed hedges shaped into sacred symbols. Marble statues of saints lining the pathways. A central fountain carved in the likeness of the Goddess pouring water from a raised chalice—its flow steady, serene, indifferent.

It was beautiful.

And suffocating.

Divine guards patrolled in steady rotations, boots striking stone in disciplined rhythm. Their expressions were stern, but beneath the discipline lingered something uglier—something casual and familiar.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

The door was opened.

The lavender-haired woman was dragged out roughly.

She stumbled, barely catching herself before falling face-first onto the gravel. Her hands flew instantly to her stomach, fingers splayed protectively across the swollen curve of her womb.

The Saintess’s fists clenched so tightly her knuckles went white.

She followed.

Every step deliberate. Silent.

Luca stayed at her side, watching her more than the guards.

The woman was led across the courtyard. As they passed a group of patrolling knights, one of them let out a low snort.

"Tch. It’s been what... eight months now?"

Another smirked. "Yeah. When’s she finally giving birth? I’m getting tired of waiting."

A third chuckled under his breath. "What, you planning to line up again once she recovers?"

"Shut up," one muttered quickly, glancing around before lowering his voice. "Don’t talk like that."

He adjusted his gauntlet, tone hardening into mock piety.

"It’s all for the Goddess. For the Holy Kingdom."

The others nodded.

Then laughed anyway.

Low. Filthy. Unashamed.

Luca’s fists trembled.

His nails bit into his palms hard enough to sting.

If I could touch them—

If I could just hit them once—

Mana stirred instinctively beneath his skin, responding to his anger like a living thing.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t interfere.

Beside him, the Saintess had gone eerily still.

Her face no longer twisted in shock.

No tears.

No trembling.

Just... hollow.

Her eyes had emptied out.

Luca’s anger faltered for a second, replaced by something colder.

What must be she going through?

The woman was pulled toward the main building.

The doors opened.

They entered.

The interior was lavish—arched ceilings, holy tapestries depicting divine battles, polished floors reflecting chandelier light. Gold trim framed every doorway. Sacred verses were carved into the walls in elegant script.

But the air inside was wrong.

Too still.

Too heavy.

They were led down a corridor.

Then another.

And then—

Toward a stairwell.

Stone replaced marble.

Light dimmed.

The guards descended without hesitation, dragging the woman with them.

The Saintess followed.

Luca followed her.

The air grew colder with each step downward. The scent changed—from incense and polished wood to damp stone and iron.

Torches lined the underground passage, their flames flickering weakly against walls stained darker near the floor.

Chains hung in certain corners.

Doors of reinforced iron stood along the corridor, some slightly ajar, others sealed tight.

Low murmurs echoed faintly from somewhere deeper inside.

They stopped before one chamber.

A guard unlocked it.

The door creaked open.

Without ceremony, the woman was shoved inside.

She fell hard against the stone floor, barely catching herself in time. Both hands flew instantly to her stomach again, curling protectively around her womb as she rolled slightly to shield it.

The guard leaned against the doorway, sneering.

"Stay here," he said coldly. "Like an obedient whore."

The door slammed shut.

And the sound echoed far too long in the darkness.

The woman tried.

Even as she hit the stone, even as her body twisted from the force of the shove, she tried to shield her womb with both arms.

But she was too slow.

Too heavy.

Too tired.

Her shoulder struck first. Then her hip. The impact jolted through her entire body—

And she screamed.

It wasn’t loud at first.

Just a sharp, broken sound forced out of her throat as pain ripped through her abdomen.

Then it grew.

Raw. Panicked. Instinctive.

Her hands clutched her stomach desperately. Her back arched as another wave of pain seized her, breath coming in short, fractured gasps.

The guards outside stiffened.

"What the—?"

One stepped forward, peering into the chamber.

The woman’s body trembled violently on the cold stone.

Another guard swore under his breath.

Then—

Smack.

The back of the one who had pushed her was struck hard.

"Idiot!" another knight barked, eyes wide now. "What are you doing?!"

He grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back.

"Do you even remember what the Bishop entrusted us with?!"

The man’s face drained of color.

"I—I didn’t—"

"Shut up!" the older guard snapped. "Go! Fetch a healer—now! If something happens before the child is born, we’re all dead!"

The guard stumbled away at once, boots pounding up the stairs.

The Saintess moved.

Not toward the guards.

Not toward the exit.

She ran into the chamber.

Luca followed instantly.

The woman lay curled on her side, teeth clenched, sweat already beading along her brow. Her lavender hair stuck to her cheeks as she tried to breathe through the pain.

"Please..." she gasped weakly. "Not yet... please..."

The Saintess dropped to her knees beside her.

Her hands hovered.

Hovering.

Trembling.

She wanted to touch her.

To hold her.

To comfort her.

"M—"

The word stuck.

Her lips parted again.

"M—mother..."

But the sound dissolved into nothing.

The woman didn’t react.

She couldn’t hear her.

The Saintess reached out—

Her hand passed through empty air.

There was no resistance. No warmth. No contact.

Her fingers trembled violently as she tried again, pressing both palms toward the woman’s shoulders.

Nothing.

"Please... please, I’m here..." she whispered desperately. "I’m right here..."

But the woman only writhed in pain, unaware of the presence kneeling beside her.

Tears spilled freely down the Saintess’s cheeks now.

"I didn’t know..." she choked. "I didn’t know..."

Her voice broke completely.

She tried again to speak.

"Mom—"

The word shattered in her throat.

Luca knelt behind her, his hands hovering uselessly over her shoulders.

He didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t know what to say.

He couldn’t touch the woman either. Couldn’t help her. Couldn’t interfere.

He could only watch.

And watch the Saintess break.

Guilt flooded him like ice water.

I... I should have never done this.

His jaw tightened painfully.

I should have just left with the Dean... taken her away...

Why had he brought her here? Why had he forced her to see this?

Her faith.

Her past.

Her mother.

He had dragged her into the darkest part of it.

The Saintess leaned closer to the woman, sobbing quietly now.

"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..." she whispered, though the apology was unheard.

The woman’s cries grew sharper.

"Please..." she gasped. "Just... let the child live..."

Footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Several guards returned, half-dragging an elderly woman wrapped in plain healer’s robes. Her hair was gray and tightly bound, her expression irritated but alert.

"What is it now?" she snapped, pushing past them into the chamber.

Then she saw the woman on the floor.

Her face hardened.

"...You fools."

She dropped to her knees immediately, hands already glowing faintly with soft green light as she began examining the woman’s abdomen.

The Saintess stared at the healer.

Frozen.

Breath shaking.

And unable to do anything at all.

The healer’s fingers pressed carefully against the woman’s abdomen, green light flickering weakly around her palms.

Her expression darkened almost immediately.

Her brows drew together. Her jaw tightened. The faint glow around her hands wavered as she probed deeper, mana searching for stability—finding none.

The woman writhed again, breath coming in ragged pulls.

"P-please..." she gasped, fingers clawing weakly at the healer’s sleeve. "Just... save the child..."

Her eyes were unfocused now. Rolling slightly. Sweat soaked her temples.

"I don’t care about me..." she whispered, voice thinning. "Just... her..."

The healer’s lips pressed into a grim line.

"Stop talking," she muttered, though there was no cruelty in it—only urgency.

She shifted her hands, light intensifying briefly as she attempted to stabilize the internal damage. But the glow sputtered, like a candle fighting wind.

The healer’s face turned pale.

"...Damn it."

She looked up sharply at the guards.

"The damage is too much," she said flatly.

One of the guards stiffened. "What—?"

"I won’t be able to do anything here," she snapped. "The impact caused internal tearing. And she’s already close to term."

The woman cried out again, curling tighter around her belly.

"Please... please..." she repeated weakly. "Don’t let her—"

"We need to get her out of here," the healer said, rising halfway to her feet before kneeling again to keep pressure steady. "Now."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

"This... this wasn’t—" one started.

The healer shot him a furious glare.

"You think the Bishop will care about excuses if the child dies before it’s born?" she hissed.

Silence.

The air grew heavier.

The woman’s breathing was becoming shallow.

"We don’t have much time," the healer said sharply.

And for the first time—

Real fear crept into the guards’ eyes.