Saintess Liriel was taken away.
It was the evening of the eighth day after the first sermon.
The setting sun sank into the shadow of the Pale Tower, and the gray-golden cloud flames on the horizon gradually dimmed.
Compared to the initial mutual aid organization of less than a hundred people, the entire Fountain Square was now packed with elves who came to listen, numbering over a thousand.
Even a small number of low-ranking nobles quietly mingled in the crowd.
Most of them sat on the ground, but some elves brought their own seating—rags, wooden chairs, and even soft cushions, of all varieties.
But one thing was astonishingly consistent among them: their gazes, directed towards the fountain, were complex and fervent, filled with reverence and longing.
Liriel stood by the fountain.
The setting sun fell behind her, casting a long shadow.
At this moment, she was bending down to bestow a blessing upon a frail mother.
The sick child in the mother's arms neither cried nor fussed, their face deathly pale.
A soft, orange-red glow emanated from the Saintess's palm, and that faint but warm power gently caressed the mother's forehead, then slowly flowed through the child's entire body.
As divine grace infused him, the child's tightly furrowed brow slowly relaxed, and a long-lost trace of color and serenity appeared on his cheeks.
Just as everyone held their breath, preparing to witness another sermon, an unforeseen change occurred!
"Stop right there!" A sharp shout suddenly exploded from outside the crowd!
Urgent footsteps came from the west side of the square.
A team of rangers, dressed in dark blue patrol scout uniforms, forcibly parted the crowd and rushed directly towards where the Saintess stood.
"In the name of the Council, arrest the illegal spellcaster and her accomplices inciting heresy!"
The crowd instantly stirred.
Screams and angry shouts erupted, and some people immediately tried to rush forward to stop them.
"Let her go!"
"She's saving people! What right do you have?!"
Several believer guards on both sides of the square immediately leaped in front of the Saintess, drew their weapons, and stood between the rangers and Liriel!
The atmosphere suddenly became tense, with swords drawn and bows strung!
Just at this critical moment, Liriel quietly looked towards Sindaiseth, who stood to the side.
He nodded almost imperceptibly.
And so, the next moment— "Stop!"
The Saintess's clear voice rose high, ethereal and firm, instantly overriding the commotion and echoing clearly across the square.
She stepped forward, extended her arm, and stopped the guards' actions.
Her gentle eyes swept over the crowd surrounding her, showing no fear, no anger, only a reassuring calm.
The guards showed struggle, but eventually slowly lowered their weapons, stepped back, and bowed their heads.
Liriel's expression remained unchanged; she simply smiled faintly.
She clasped her hands in front of her, stood quietly upright, allowing two rangers to step forward, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her wrist.
Throughout the entire process, she did not move a muscle.
"Do not be afraid—" She turned to the surrounding believers, her voice soft yet clear, reaching everyone's ears, "This is merely a test from our Lord."
Then, she turned under the rangers' restraint.
Without resistance, and without another word.
Immediately, she was escorted away, her figure merging into the twilight, never looking back.
That pure white silhouette was thus led by the rangers into the deepening shadows, like the last glimmer of light on the horizon, completely swallowed by the massive outline of the Pale Tower.
—Several hours later, Rielian received the heartbreaking news.
At that time, he was leading several elven volunteers, searching for supplies and refugees among the dilapidated houses and ruins on the south side of the commoner district.
He had just personally dragged a cold corpse from beneath the rubble, and before he could even catch his breath, a familiar scout stumbled towards him, his face etched with unbelievable panic.
"Rielian! The Saintess—the Saintess has been taken away!"
At that moment, Rielian was struck by lightning, frozen in place, the color instantly draining from his face.
"—What did you say?" he asked in a low voice, already choked with emotion.
How could she leave? How could she leave?
Rielian almost frantically rushed back to Fountain Square, but what greeted him was chaos—the elves, having lost their leader, had fallen into disarray.
Some were wailing in pain, some were arguing fiercely, and many more, like Rielian, were ashen-faced and distraught.
He stood there blankly for a long time, until the White Lady and the Blue Child hung high in the night sky, until footsteps quietly sounded behind him.
"Do you want to save her?"
That low, calm voice sounded behind him.
Rielian turned abruptly.
Sindaiseth stood in the shadows, his arms crossed, his face still without a ripple of emotion.
"It's you—" Rielian gritted his teeth, glaring at him, his eyes burning with anger, "You knew they would come! You always knew! Why didn't you stop them? Why didn't you tell me?!"
His voice was hoarse and furious, his fists clenched tightly, veins bulging.
"I couldn't stop her." Sindaiseth's tone remained as calm as water, "That was her choice."
"Choice? She was captured!" Rielian roared, "They forcibly took her! She did nothing wrong! She was just saving people!"
"Yes," Sindaiseth nodded slightly, "She was saving people. And she knew from the beginning that she would eventually be taken away."
He took a few steps forward, his tall figure casting a shadow over Rielian, "She didn't resist. You saw it too."
Rielian trembled all over, his Adam's apple bobbed, but he was speechless.
"That is her faith," Sindaiseth stared at him, "She believes she must take this step—to confront the Council, to confront the entire upper echelon—only then can she truly save everyone."
"Do you remember what she first told you? What she wanted to save was not just you all."
Then came a long silence.
Rielian's voice trembled: "She—where is she now?"
"I don't know." Sindaiseth replied succinctly, "They came prepared. The question now is, what are you going to do."
"You can continue to sit here and pray for her safe return. Or you can—" He paused, his tone understated, "Take action and save her."
"She made her choice. Now it's your turn."
"Save her?" Thinking of the heavy burden required to embark on this path, Rielian found it increasingly difficult to breathe, almost suffocating.
He considered himself never a leader, much less a commander.
He was just the head of a hastily assembled small group.
He used to only need to look after dozens of people, coordinate food distribution, and mediate two or three conflicts, which already left him overwhelmed and sleepless.
But now, before him were over a thousand elves, gathered by faith, still strangers to each other.
This had always been the Saintess's responsibility; he had seen her countless times tirelessly comforting refugees, distributing supplies, resolving disputes, never shirking, never backing down.
And he only needed to stand behind her, nod, execute, obey.
Until this moment, he truly realized—all this order, hope, and even the spiritual strength subtly supporting everyone, was all because she was there.
And now, she was gone.
Rielian clasped his fingers tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms, his body stiff as a stone.
Pressure.
Overwhelming pressure.
His thoughts were a tangled mess, his heart beating like a drum.
He had no idea what to do next.
What kind of look would people give him, this so-called "leader"?
He was clearly nothing at all.
He was not a leader, not a warrior, and certainly not a divine spokesperson.
He was just a nameless, powerless lower-class elf, a failure who couldn't even protect his own family once.
He bowed his head in agony, his body trembling violently, almost crushed by this invisible weight.
Until a pair of strong hands rested on his shoulders.
Rielian looked up and still saw Sindaiseth's inscrutable face.
He could never read the other's emotions; at this moment, perhaps he was offering encouragement?
"The Saintess won't come back on her own."
Sindaiseth spoke, his tone still calm, but his words precisely pierced the softest corner of Rielian's heart.
"If you don't take on this responsibility, no one will."
He paused, his expression as calm as if stating a simple fact:
"You don't want anything to happen to her in the noble district, do you?"
Rielian's face suddenly turned ashen, he lowered his head, his throat tight, unable to utter a single word.
His heartbeat became heavy and slow, each beat pulling out a memory of Liriel from the depths of his mind.
Even though they had only known each other for a few days, this woman had already become an indispensable pillar in his life.
Because it was she who made him believe for the first time that "hope" was not an ethereal lie from the mouths of nobles.
That was her—it was the light Liriel brought.
A warm current mixed with determination surged through his heart, and Rielian's trembling miraculously stopped, as if infused with a new strength.
"...No." He murmured, his voice low but clear, "I don't want anything to happen to her."
He looked up, his gaze finally piercing through the confusion, becoming firm.
"I can't let her just leave like this."
Rielian hesitated, then continued, his voice carrying an honest sense of powerlessness: "But I... I don't know what to do. I... I really don't know."
Sindaiseth's gaze shifted slightly, the corner of his mouth curving almost imperceptibly upwards.
"Good," he said, "Then, it's time to let everyone know that her departure is not the end of everything."
He patted Rielian's shoulder, "Come on. Step one, start with a motivational speech."
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