Chapter 354: The Holy Relic

“Father in Heaven! It’s my fault—I shouldn’t have given the patient stimulant herbal tea!” The priest, rushing in upon hearing the news, paid no attention to the chaotic table, helping the patient who was gasping for breath roll onto his side and pounding his back vigorously.

Blind attempts only caused Dominic to cough up more acid, achieving no positive effect.

Fortunately, the young man’s strong constitution carried him through the violent vomiting until it subsided; his chest heaved as he drew in a shrill, terrifying breath, accompanied by a series of irregular coughs and gasps.

The two, utterly helpless, stood frozen as Dominic thrashed and struggled on the floor for a long while, battling against his bodily reflexes before finally regaining a rhythm to his breathing.

He survived—for now.

Field’s hand hung suspended in midair, unsure what to do. On one hand, he feared moving him might cause further injury; on the other, Dominic’s current appearance was so grotesque it triggered an instinctive dread of virulent disease.

Yet conscience overcame instinctive revulsion; the two promptly stripped off the filthy outer garment, dragged the man to a dry spot, and wiped his face.

It was then they realized Dominic was still conscious—his gaze followed the priest’s movements, and with trembling fingers he gripped the priest’s wrist with a strength no sick man should possess.

The church’s owner reflexively jerked his hand away—but couldn’t break free.

A faint, disjointed, repeating sound squeezed out from his lips, wide open like a dying fish’s.

Leaning close, listening intently, it wasn’t a cry for help.

“Where did they go…?”

Hollow and resolute, like a drowned corpse beneath ice, its nails tapping repeatedly against a transparent, impenetrable barrier.

Even standing at the center of the church, they could not stop a dark, chilling sensation from rising—ignoring thick walls and clothing, it clung to their spines.

The two exchanged glances, seeing the same thought in each other’s eyes:

【Demon possession?】

Watching the priest’s hand begin to redden, his face contorted in pain, Field apologized and decisively twisted Dominic’s wrist, forcing his grip to loosen, then flipped him onto his stomach and pressed his face into the ground.

“Belt!”

Taking the only suitable restraint available, Field seized Dominic’s other hand, bound both wrists behind his back, then removed his sword, eliminating the threat before Dominic could regain control of his body.

No matter what, a mentally deranged person must never be allowed near weapons.

Dominic’s next action confirmed this—he suddenly jerked his head upward, springing off the floor like a fish, his occiput slamming into the nose of the man behind him.

The priest watched in horror as Field reeled back, clutching his face, blood seeping through his fingers; he fumbled three times before finding his holy symbol at his collar and, in the fastest voice of his life, nearly screaming the litany.

“Lord! In Your holy name we beg You: shatter and expel all the forces of Your enemies, all things of darkness, all deceptions of demons. We implore You, hear our prayer…”

Dominic rolled over, fixing his gaze on the priest’s eyes. There was no malice in that gaze—only utter indifference to everything around him, and an unyielding search for answers, as if trying to drill into the mind, to dig out clues.

The brief stare froze the priest’s body; his lips stammered, nearly forgetting how to continue. But Field lunged forward, breaking the gaze, angrily shoving his companion back down with a hand smeared in nasal blood.

“In the name of the Father and the Holy Spirit, and by His power, I command you—every unclean spirit, every force of Satan, every affliction from the enemies of hell, every evil power and demonic faction—depart at once!”

That headbutt had clearly clarified Field’s understanding of the situation. He pinned the still-struggling Dominic under his weight, then freed a hand to pull off his own belt.

In the chaos, he thought he heard a faint, muffled crack—but had no time to investigate.

“...By the command of the Creator of all things, the Almighty Father, and by the Holy Spirit, I command you: vanish, flee from this creature of God!”

With the exorcism halfway complete, Dominic grew slightly calmer. It was hard to say whether the litany had worked—or whether it was the weight pressing on his back and the two belts binding his wrists and ankles that had done the trick.

“We beg You to expel the enemies of the Holy Church; hear our prayer!”

Field wiped the blood and spittle from his face, cautiously shifting his weight, relaxing his pressure, and gestured for the priest to stop reciting.

This time, Dominic did not spring up again; the fierce struggle had drained the last of the sick body’s strength, leaving him in deep unconsciousness or fainting.

The priest crept forward cautiously, extending a finger to test for breath.

“He’s still alive.”

“I’m terribly sorry—my friend has been… uh, unwell lately.” Field took a moment to muster the courage to survey the room. Dozens of books had been knocked over and damaged; he dared not guess their value.

“Perhaps that’s precisely what gave the demon an opening. We’re grateful you helped expel it.”

Though he himself still didn’t understand what had happened, it was best to blame the incident on a demon—whether real or not—since the demon couldn’t appear in the church to defend itself.

Of course, if the demon did appear and speak, that would only further prove the accident was caused by evil influence.

The priest accepted this explanation readily, humbly acknowledging his own superb exorcism skills under emergency conditions—but still harbored doubt:

“What did he mean by ‘Where did they go’?”

“Perhaps it was influenced by what he just saw.” Field briefly mentioned the ritual vessels, deliberately omitting any speculation about the timeline or the identity of the caravan.

“Oh, you mean that set of silverware!”

To his surprise, the priest immediately understood what he meant, handing Field the holy symbol he’d gripped during the exorcism.

The pure silver symbol, polished regularly, gleamed like new; its craftsmanship was fine, especially the intricate carving of the long wings, each short feather layered precisely atop the next—even too meticulously so, the dense, uniform overlapping making them look less like soft feathers and more like the interlocking scales of a reptile.

“This is one piece of that set of ritual vessels. My teacher—the former priest of this church—mentioned it to me before.”

“He was worried they might try to buy them back when the caravan returned, but these items were never taken away.”

“We still use them today. Even in our hardest times, we never sold them—don’t even think of taking them back!”

Field had no intention of redeeming the items, nor could they represent the old monastery.

Compared to the silver ritual vessels, he wanted to learn from the priest about that caravan—where it went, and what it was doing.

“My teacher only said they took the northern route, carrying something valuable, forbidding anyone to approach—like they were transporting a holy relic.”

Many years had passed, and few remembered the event—but when it came to their family heirloom, the priest could still recall fragments.

“That’s a road leading deeper, farther north. Why go there?” Field puzzled. “And when they returned—what did they bring back?”

“Hmm… I really don’t recall. My teacher never mentioned it. Maybe they took a different route back? Why are you asking?”

“Nothing. Just curious. Let’s find him a room first—we can’t leave him lying here.”

Recently… it’s been extremely busy, my circadian rhythm is messed up, updates are difficult.

?_:(′□`」∠):_

?(Chapter ends)