The circle of life was growing.

Slowly. The gentle, golden-green light from Sylva spread outwards, a steady wave of renewal. It pushed back the deathly gloom, turning the hard earth into rich soil. The patch of vibrant green grass expanded from twenty feet across to thirty, then forty. Everywhere the light touched, life followed, a beautiful carpet of green spreading across the dead land.

It was a steady, truly unbelievable miracle.

And it was starting to attract the wrong kind of attention.

From the grey mists of the Scar, the tormented shapes of the Sorrow-Walkers turned. Their pained, jerky movements became focused. There was no rage in their approach, no predator’s charge. They were simply all moving in the same direction – towards the growing oasis of life.

“Hostiles incoming, ten o’clock!” a Temple Knight barked, his voice sharp with alarm.

SHING!

The sound of dozens of swords being drawn from their sheaths at once echoed in the tense air, a clear promise of violence.

Seraph’s hand flew to her sidearm. “Defensive positions! Form a line around Jonah!” she commanded her Academy soldiers. “Do not fire unless I give the order!”

“I repeat, Do not fire unless I give the order!”

Vanessa grabbed Jonah’s sleeve, her knuckles white. “Uh, Jonah? You might want to tell your new friend to wrap it up! We’ve got company, and they don’t look like they’re here to admire the flowers.”

But Jonah didn’t move. He stood perfectly still, his eyes closed. He could feel them. Through Sylva’s `Empathic Link`, a power he was only just beginning to understand, their suffering washed over him. It wasn’t rage or hunger he felt. It was a desperate, unending pain. They were souls trapped in twisted creatures and the light from Sylva was the first hint of relief they had felt in decades.

They weren’t coming to attack. They were coming to be healed.

“Hold your fire!” Jonah called out, his voice clear and steady. “They aren’t hostile!”

Inquisitor Theron scoffed. “Nonsense, boy! They are corrupted beasts, drawn to life to destroy it!” He raised his hand, ready to give his own knights the order to purge the approaching monsters.

“No! Wait!” Jonah insisted.

He looked down at Sylva, the elegant creature standing calmly amidst the growing grass. He sent a feeling through their bond – not a command, but a request.

They’re in pain. Can you help them?

Sylva looked up at him, its deep eyes filled with an ancient wisdom. It understood.

The Verdant Guardian lifted its head and let out a sound.

It wasn’t a roar or a cry. It was a soft, chime-like call, a perfect note that seemed to hang in the air like a drop of silver. The sound was infused with Sylva’s pacifying magic, a “Song of Serenity.”

It wasn’t a sound you just heard with your ears. It was a note of pure, flowing peace that washed through the air, finding every tight spot of pain, every piece of despair and gently smoothing it out.

The effect on the Sorrow Walkers was deep and instant.

The pained shrieks and moans that had been a constant background noise from the Scar ceased. The shambling creatures, who had been pushing forward, slowed to a stop at the edge of the purified grass. Their wild, pained movements calmed. They stood at the border of life and death, their twisted bodies relaxing.

One by one, they lay down.

A creature that might have once been a bear, its fur matted and its limbs bent at unnatural angles, collapsed onto its side with a weary sigh. The pained tension in its body seemed to melt away.

The soldiers and knights lowered their weapons, watching in stunned silence. They were prepared for a battle, for a bloody and righteous purge. They were not prepared for this.

The wolf-like creature with the weeping sores, the one that had been put out of its misery the night before, had a twin. This one crawled forward, its body shaking, until its nose touched the edge of the vibrant green grass. It whined softly. The sound was no longer of pain, but of a deep wish. Slowly, it pulled itself ahead, resting its head on the cool, living earth.

For the first time in what might have been decades, a creature of the Withered Scar closed its eyes, not in pain, but in peaceful sleep.

Silence.

A deep silence fell over the battlefield that wasn’t a battlefield. The only sound was the gentle, chime-like hum that continued to emanate from Sylva.

Vanessa stared, her mouth hanging slightly open. “It… it put them to sleep?”

“It gave them peace,” Seraph corrected, her voice filled with a quiet awe she rarely showed.

Jonah looked at the scene before him: a ring of sleeping monsters, their tormented souls finally silenced. This was a power far beyond what he had imagined. It didn’t just heal the land; it healed the spirit. This was a power the Church, with all its righteous fire and purifying light, had never possessed. They knew how to destroy the unholy, but they had forgotten how to heal the broken.

Inquisitor Theron stood frozen, his hand still on his sword. His face was a mask of disbelief and deep, unsettling confusion. He was witnessing a form of power that his entire worldview, his entire faith, had no category for. This wasn’t purification through destruction. This was absolution through mercy.

He looked from the sleeping beasts to the elegant creature in the center of the oasis, and then to the quiet boy from the undercroft of Cinderfall who commanded it. He had come here to judge a heretic. Instead, he was being taught a lesson in divinity he was not prepared to learn.

The victory was more stunning than any explosion, more absolute than any battle. Jonah had not just proven his power; he had proven it was different. In a world ruled by firm beliefs and politics, being ‘different’ was the greatest danger.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep