The Dragon Emperor of Another World: Awakening of a Legend

CHAPTER 19: Sacred Light

The gates of Avelline City loomed ahead, their iron-bound wood flecked with morning dew. Ethan Lockwood and Celestia Draconyx stumbled through them, cloaks torn and stained from the marshes, the stench of cursed magic clinging to their skin like an invisible shroud.

Inside the Adventurers' Guild, the mood shifted the moment they entered.

Tessa stood behind the counter, her usual playful smile vanished, replaced by a grim tightness around her lips. She immediately dropped the bundle of quest parchments she had been sorting.

"You’re back," she breathed, hurrying forward. Her gaze flicked to Ethan—and paled. "But you're... cursed."

Ethan gave a ragged nod before his knees buckled. Only Celestia’s quick reflexes kept him upright. Tessa cried for help, and soon Garret and Lysa rushed down from the upper floors, the thunder of their boots echoing off the stone.

Garret’s scarred face twisted with alarm.

"Get him to the rest hall. Now!"

Within minutes, Ethan was laid out on a padded cot behind the guild’s reinforced walls. The air inside was thick with tension. His body writhed under the weight of the blood curse, cold sweat pouring from him. His leg, marred by the dark magic, spasmed violently as crimson runes crawled up his skin like living vines.

Celestia knelt beside him, her face stricken with worry, murmuring soft reassurances as she dabbed his brow. Ethan's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, and the Voidrend Blade at his side twitched intermittently, reacting to his agony.

"This isn’t normal necromancy," Lysa said, her voice barely a whisper as she examined the spreading marks. "This curse... it’s ancient. Far older than the Syndicate’s filth."

Garret grunted. "Then we’ve stirred something worse than the Guild's worst nightmares."

Urgent word was sent up the chain. Within the hour, the doors thundered open—and Guild Master Regnas himself entered.

A legend clad not in gleaming armor, but a simple coat lined with wolf-fur, Regnas carried with him the aura of a man who had faced and conquered countless horrors—and bore their weight silently. His silver hair was pulled back into a loose tie, his deep-set amber eyes blazing with unspoken commands.

He knelt at Ethan’s bedside, brushing aside the cloak to inspect the curse. His frown deepened.

"This is beyond conventional alchemy," Regnas muttered. "Only the sacred arts can undo this rot."

He rose in one fluid motion, already barking orders.

"Tessa, prepare a missive to the High Cathedral of Astrael."

Tessa, though pale, saluted crisply and sprinted to fetch parchment and ink.

Regnas turned to Celestia.

"The cathedral’s high magi can still invoke the rites of Purification. It’s our only hope—and they must act quickly."

Minutes later, Tessa returned, clutching a scroll bearing Regnas’s personal seal. She, along with Celestia and the barely-conscious Ethan, set out toward the heart of Avelline.

The High Cathedral of Astrael was breathtaking—a colossus of ivory stone, its arched spires cutting into the heavens like lances of light. Stained-glass windows shimmered with depictions of angels triumphing over darkness, while soft choirs sang from within, their voices a balm to the soul.

The grand double doors, carved with images of the First Seraph’s sacrifice, swung open at their approach.

Inside, a figure awaited them.

Archbishop Calvinar—the steward of Astrael’s sacred rites. His flowing robes of sapphire and gold rippled with each measured step he took. His eyes, ancient and clouded with wisdom, immediately fixed upon Ethan’s failing form.

Without delay, he called for aid.

From the side halls emerged Seraphina—a young acolyte whose beauty seemed almost ethereal. Her silver hair cascaded like moonlight across her platinum robe, and her sky-blue eyes shimmered with innocent kindness, belying her slightly clumsy movements as she hurried to Calvinar’s side.

"My lord Archbishop," she breathed, clutching a crystalline vial. "The Elixir of the Sainted Maiden—prepared as instructed."

"Go," Calvinar said, voice firm but gentle. "Tend to the warrior."

Seraphina knelt at Ethan’s side, uncorking the vial. A soft, sweet fragrance—like blooming lilies under starlight—filled the air.

"Drink, please," she urged, tilting the vial to Ethan’s lips.

The liquid, warm and luminous, slid down Ethan’s throat. Almost instantly, the spasms in his body dulled. The cursed runes on his leg flickered, their advance slowing.

Seraphina placed her hands over the wound and began to chant. Threads of golden light spilled from her fingers, weaving a net of divine magic across Ethan’s battered leg. Celestia remained kneeling beside him, clutching his hand with both of hers, her crimson eyes shining with unspoken desperation.

Hours passed in tireless healing.

By the break of dawn, Ethan’s complexion regained a measure of color. His breathing steadied. Celestia, exhausted, had fallen asleep at the edge of the cot, her forehead resting lightly against Ethan’s hand.

When Ethan stirred at last, blinking against the sunlight that streamed through the cathedral’s windows, he found her there—silent, loyal, unyielding.

Later that afternoon, Archbishop Calvinar returned, accompanied by Seraphina, carrying a tray with three crystalline vials filled with radiant, golden liquid.

"The most potent sacred elixirs in our vaults," Calvinar said gravely, presenting them to Ethan and Celestia. "You will need these to face what comes."

Regnas’s letter had been read and weighed with utmost seriousness.

Calvinar’s expression was troubled as he leaned closer.

"Our oldest scriptures speak of Azrad," he said. "Not merely a vampire lord—but a progenitor, an ancient sin born during the Sundering of Realms. Sealing him will not be simple. But it must be done, lest this city—and the world beyond—fall into ruin."

Ethan exchanged a glance with Celestia. Her gaze was steady, unwavering.

They accepted the vials.

Steel against darkness. Light against the curse.

This time, they would not retreat.

As they stepped beyond the cathedral’s sanctified threshold once more, the setting sun bled across the sky like a dying ember.