[BL] Accidentally Becoming the Healer of the Deranged Archduke-Chapter 207: The Devil’s Heart

The wind howled like a warning through the snow-blasted cliffs of the North.

No birds sang here. No animals moved. Even the trees, skeletal and bare, seemed to curl inward as though hiding from something unseen. Far beyond the warmth of Xion’s cheerful village, the world in this corner was utterly silent.

Inside a stone fortress carved into the cliffside, fires crackled in the hearths, including the old church shrouded beneath the grey sky.

A hush fell over the gathered acolytes, kneeling in reverent stillness in the small hall. Even when their breaths misted the cold air, they did not move an inch.

Incense smoke curled lazily upward, tracing patterns into the vaulted ceiling of pale marble. And there, at the very center of the sanctum, stood a girl.

Her face was hidden behind a veil of pure white silk, embroidered with gold threads that shimmered when she moved.

Her golden hair, falling in soft waves past her waist, radiated a glow. It was as if the sun itself had finally decided to shine on the land of ice, warming the hearts of the devotees who gazed upon her.

They were so glad that the saintess had bestowed such a favor upon them. She had journeyed far, just to bless them.

Her frame was delicate as if one strong gust of wind might harm her. Yet no one mistook her for anything less than divine.

Her voice, soft as a breath and bright as a bell, stirred something deep within even the coldest hearts, like an oriole’s song woven from threads of purity and pain.

She stood with hands clasped before the great altar of Myrthia, the goddess of grace and judgment, surrounded by fading flowers and frozen prayer scrolls.

"May the goddess bestow her blessing on this land and purify the evil lurking in the depths of darkness."

A murmur of voices followed her words like an echo, and then silence fell.

Just as the prayer ended, no one lingered a moment longer as they hurried out of the church gates.

Although it had only been a week since the saintess had arrived, the devotees were familiar with her routine by now. After the prayer, the saintess would stay with the goddess.

Just as the church hall fell silent, three cloaked figures knelt before her.

"You’re late," she said gently as if she were welcoming the precious guests.

However, one of the kneeling figures flinched when he heard that voice.

"Forgive us, Your Highness. The river route was watched."

Lewis kept his gaze down while answering respectfully. Sweat trickled down his neck along the lines carved into his skin like a brand. A brand of a slave.

"So you took the mountain path?" she asked while carefully opening the prayer scrolls.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Did you lose anyone?" she asked again while reading a particularly clean scroll.

"I wish for my little sister to live and not be sick."

It was written by a young clerk of the church. A smile bloomed on her pink lips. It was always adorable to read these prayers. They were so genuine, so filled with love, and sometimes with utter hate.

With a smile, she placed the scroll over the candle and soon the paper danced on the flame until it turned into ashes.

The kneeling man forced his hand not to shiver. One wrong move and he might replace that paper.

"One," the middle one replied. "Ravik."

"A waste," she murmured, as if she were speaking not of a man, but a fallen leaf.

"And the object?"

Here it was, an object that was much more valuable to the saintess than the human life.

The third figure reached inside their robe and pulled out a black crystal sealed in an iron cage. It pulsed, faintly, like a slow heartbeat.

Talia smiled. A cruel curl of lips that somehow still managed to look elegant.

"So it begins," she whispered as she traced the pattern on the iron bars.

Beneath the veil and serenity, her smile did not reach her eyes. Not even holding the devil’s heart in her hands could bring her joy.

Talia was no ordinary saintess. It was not for the fact that she was the royal princess, the precious daughter of the king.

She was actually not even a saintess... yet.

Once hailed as the most promising vessel of the goddess Myrthia in centuries, Talia had been groomed since childhood to become a member of the church council.

Her prayers were said to be more powerful than any ritual, her voice alone enough to calm storms of corrupted mana.

Hence, her people called her Saintess with reverence. The acolytes bowed low, nobles gifted fortunes to her church, and her name was sung in every corner of the Eldoria Lunareth.

But it was all premature.

It had all started to unravel two years ago.

All due to one man.

Because of a healer who dared to defy sacred ground — without ever stepping foot on it!

Xion treated the curses with strange, unorthodox methods. While doing that, he had managed to gain the undivided attention of the church council.

Xion had brought the dead back to life and that too without rituals, without prayers, and without faith.

"Let us observe," they’d said. "Let us see how the world shifts. We need to choose the rightful Saint."

Even if the vessel of the Pope didn’t mention the name of the other candidate, they all knew who it was.

Talia had waited. And waited.

Until waiting became poison.

But now? Now she no longer cared for their approval.

She never cared about it. After all, her goal was far different than just being a vessel for the church to secure greater offerings from nobles and her royal kin.

Being a saintess was just a little step she needed to fulfill and she had already become one in the hearts of her people. Her presence made them kneel. Her blessings made them believe.

The goddess would understand. Myrthia would guide her.

And as for Xion?

"Prepare the rituals. We’ll see if our little Healer Lord down South can smile so easily when his skies turn red."