The final battle was fought in the space between heartbeats.

Sylva’s beam of pure life, focused into an intense spear of golden-green light, struck the last demonic rune on the Heart of the Scar. At the same time, Jonah gave one final push with his mind, pouring every last ounce of his willpower into tearing at the magical threads that held the evil artifact together.

For a split second, there was a powerful, stubborn resistance. The psychic scream in Jonah’s mind grew louder and louder, a sound of pure hatred, until it was deafening.

Then, with a sound like shattering glass that only Jonah could hear… it broke.

CRACK!

The central core of the artifact, its dark heart of despair, broke into a thousand pieces. The web of demonic runes dissolved into nothing, like a smoke in the wind. The obsidian shard, which had pulsed with a violent energy just moments before, now looked like a dull, lifeless rock.

A spiderweb of cracks spread across its surface.

Crumble…

The Heart of the Scar dissolved into a pile of harmless black sand, which was instantly swept away by a fresh breeze that blew across the land for the first time in fifty long years.

The oppressive, soul-crushing aura that had choked the Withered Scar for decades vanished.

The grey mist evaporated as if it has never been there, revealing a clear blue sky. The heavy despair that had choked the air was replaced by a feeling of… release. A sense of peace settled over the land.

Everyone in the crowd let out a big sigh, a sound of a hundred people all releasing a breath they didn’t know they’d been holding for an hour.

Several of the Temple Knights, their stern faces streaked with tears, fell to their knees in prayer, their hands clasped in thanks. They had lived with the shame of this wound on the world for their entire lives, and they had just witnessed it being healed.

Jonah staggered, the powerful psychic strain of the last hour hitting him all at once like a physical blow. His legs felt like jelly, and the world tilted dangerously. Sylva, its purpose fulfilled, let out one last, soft chime and dismissed itself, its graceful form fading into motes of green light as it returned to his Beast Space to rest.

He had done it.

Cardinal Evangeline stepped forward, her face a flawless mask of religious triumph. She walked up to the edge of the now healthy land, her eyes sweeping over the kneeling knights and the stunned Academy soldiers. She raised her hands, her voice booming across the now-peaceful land.

“The heavens have blessed us!” she declared, her voice filled with a belief strong enough to move mountains. “The blight is cleansed! A miracle was made this day!”

She turned, her sharp eyes locking onto Jonah. He was exhausted, swaying on his feet, but in that moment, she didn’t see a tired boy. She saw a political victory. She saw a symbol.

“Let it be known from this day forward!” she proclaimed, her voice getting louder and louder for all to hear. “That Jonah of Cinderfall, the humble child chosen by the World Dragon, is a Living Saint of the Church! A hero to the nation!”

The words hit Jonah harder than any psychic blast. A Living Saint. The Cardinal hadn’t just acknowledged his victory; she had branded him with it. She had claimed him, body and soul, in front of everyone.

He had won the trial. He had healed the land. But in doing so, he had walked right into the Cardinal’s ultimate trap. He was no longer just a student, no longer just a Beast Weaver. He was now a symbol, a public figure owned by a power he didn’t serve.

“Well,” Vanessa whispered to Seraph, her voice a mixture of awe and horror.

“That escalated quickly.”

Seraph didn’t say a word. She just walked over to Jonah and put a steadying hand on his shoulder as he stumbled. Her expression was unreadable, but her grip was firm.

________________________________________

The convoy’s journey back to the capital was a blur. Jonah was so drained he could barely keep his eyes open. He was aware of the other soldiers looking at him differently. The suspicious glares of the Temple Knights had been replaced by looks of pure awe. They kept trying to offer him blessed water and holy rations, which he politely refused. It was deeply awkward.

By the time they reached the capital, the news had already spread like wildfire.

“The Miracle at the Scar!”

The story was on every news crystal, on the lips of every person in the street. The tale had already grown in the telling. They said a humble boy had single-handedly fought a demon god, that he had commanded angels, that he had made a dead forest bloom with a single touch.

He looked out the window of the transport, at the crowds of people celebrating in the streets. They were celebrating him. A boy they had never met. A power they did not understand.

His quiet life of research, of discovery, of building his team in the peace of his workshop, was over. He knew it with a deep, sinking certainty. He had a new, far more complex battle to fight now – a battle of politics, of faith, of public perception. His enemies would no longer be mindless beasts or corrupt government agents. They would be politicians, zealots, and the crushing weight of public expectation.

Jonah looked out at the city. Seraph stood fiercely protective beside him. Vanessa was deeply worried. The city was no longer a glittering cage. It was a new kind of battlefield.

He had survived the undercroft of Cinderfall. He had survived the Awakening. He had survived assassins and monsters and the loneliness of his unique power.

He had won, again.

But as he watched the celebrating crowds, he had a feeling that his biggest and most difficult fight had only just begun.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep