Chapter 64: The Light That Serves the Dark
One of the paladins, a younger one with a fresh face and wide, hopeful eyes, approached Corven first. Without hesitation, he clapped him on the back, full of enthusiasm.
"You did great!"
It was meant as praise—for saving their lady, for surviving the massacre—but in his excitement, he forgot one small, painful detail: his gauntlets were silver.
The moment it made contact, Corven hissed, his skin sizzling under the touch.
"Ah—shit—!"
"Oh... I’m sorry!" the young paladin stammered, pulling his hand back in horror. The smell of burnt flesh lingered briefly in the air. The poor kid had no clue his well-meaning gesture had just added another layer of agony to an already broken man.
"Enough of that, Howard," the captain said sharply. His voice was calm, but carried a distinct tone of command that shut the younger one up immediately. "Go bring him some blood. And move quickly."
As the captain approached Corven—who was still on his knees, clutching his throbbing head—he muttered a short, guttural prayer under his breath. Not one of light or holy intent, but something darker, closer to a pact than a blessing.
Then he removed his silver gauntlet, fingers bare as he gently placed his hand on Corven’s head.
A surge of grotesque energy pulsed from his palm, unnerving in nature but soothing all the same. The magic crawled across Corven’s body like tendrils of smoke, draining the pain from his nerves and replacing it with an eerie calm.
It wasn’t a holy spell. No divine scripture could pull this off. But it was effective—a standard among the Baroness’ elite guard. When you serve a half-vampire noble, morality tends to become flexible. You borrow power from wherever it works—even if it comes from the other side of the veil.
"H-huh...?" Corven blinked, confused as the pounding in his head vanished in an instant.