Karn Village was a quiet pond of a place, until war between two empires churned it into ripples. Most people fled like leaves on a hard wind. Only the church kept its lamps burning, a harbor under storm clouds, sheltering the old, the weak, and the children.
Today, that harbor felt a wave break. Soldiers who never came here pushed in and shattered the hush.
“Sorry, Father. We need to borrow your sanctuary.”
The church doors slammed open. A girl in armor, breath ragged, stood in the doorway like a storm-tossed sapling. She forced her voice soft, gentler than her panting, yet still spooked the little ones.
“I’m the daughter of a Frontier War Hero. Don’t be afraid…”
She sighed, helpless, bowed to the priest and the nun with solemn care, then slipped. Her knees buckled; the wound in her body made her legs sand.
The priest didn’t fuss. He just smiled and waved her off, while the nun rushed in with strong, steady hands, muttering, “Stop wriggling, you’re not healed yet…”
“Father, thank you for saving me. But… with your strength, you don’t care for worldly payments.”
Her eyes measured him. Anyone who could calm the rampage of the Arcane Power inside her with a touch was a mountain disguised in cloth.
“Praise be to the Lord. Your goodwill is enough. The Sanctum Church aids for no reward.”
He smiled and drew an old parchment from his wide sleeves, the paper smelling of dust and candles, and offered it to her.
“You, daughter of a Frontier War Hero—would you consider training with the Sanctum Church?”
The old knight stepped close and shielded her with his presence, voice low. “My lady, about this…”
She studied the parchment. She nodded once, answer aimed at both of them and neither at all.
Then the air snapped.
“Hmph. Found you at last. So you were hiding here!”
Silver-armored knights clogged the doorway like a wall of cold steel. Their formation screamed ambush. They had hunted her to this holy room.
“House Gelin… How did they know?”
Her black-armored knights drew steel with a hiss, forming a hedge of iron in front of her. The old knight’s blade came free in full, and killing intent rolled out like winter frost.
The nun bristled, ready to drag fools out by the ear. Her temper said half-dead and tossed into the mud. The priest lifted a hand and caught her sleeve.
“Think hiding in a church saves you? I knock down country chapels for sport. You in the back—be good and come with us!”
The lead knight’s voice swaggered. His sword smashed a pew, splinters flying like dry husks. He wore his arrogance like a dented helm.
The girl sighed again. She parted her guards and stepped forward, shadow long under the stained glass.
“I’ll handle this.”
“Sister Nun, I’ll borrow one of your tricks.”
She smiled without waiting for a reply. Thunder flared in a sheet of white-blue, blinding and harsh, painting a Wall of Thunder beside her, humming like a hive.
“Fuck off—think numbers make you tough?!”
Her shout cracked like a whip. Spears of Thunder surged from the wall in a volley, streaking toward the silver ranks like storm javelins.
She seized one spear of Thunder and leapt. Her arms looked slender, willow over water, yet the strike was a hammer. The front rank scattered like tin tossed by a gale.
They had planned their net. Fireballs arced back at her—red suns flung from behind shields.
She drove the Thunder wall forward with both hands. It shoved the fire aside in a hiss, and she lunged through the heat. Sparks kissed her cheek like burning gnats, but her pace never broke.
The mage in the rear, snug behind his knights, started shaping another fireball. Fire elements gathered in his palm like coals swirling.
“Wah!”
A spear of Thunder punched through the ring of steel and nailed his casting hand, the sound a wet crack. The fire turned feral, bit him, and set his own flesh alight. His scream tore at the rafters.
She swept the Thunder wall across her flank. It blew away lingering flames like a storm dousing torches. She snatched another spear and met their eyes. Her gaze was a hunter’s in moonlight. The silver knights forgot their numbers and stepped back as if a cliff had opened.
“Go! She’s bluffing, that little bitch!”
The lead knight barked orders, a pit in his gut. He knew her skill was high, but her wounds were worse. She shouldn’t have been able to fight so many.
He had brought a crowd and a mage for caution. Now his caution felt thin as paper.
“Oh? Come on then.”
Her spear spun, Thunder crawling along the shaft in crackling veins. Any knight who closed was met with a trade of life for life. Her point hunted throats and joints. Silver retreated in panicked inches.
She cut, stepped, cut. More lives fell like stalks under a scythe. The best they managed was a foot from her shadow before they were blown back like leaves from a blast.
Her black-armored knights reached her side. Just five, but not a single coward. They ringed her and pushed others away with iron faith.
“My lady, fall back!”
The old knight split a dragoon’s lunge and shook blood from steel. His whisper was a tether in a storm.
“No need. Their strongest isn’t a Legend. If it’s not a Legend…”
She ghosted forward. Thunderlines fell from the sky like white rain, pinning the mage again and silencing his hands.
“…then they can’t stop me.”
Her spear took more lives. Men skewered by a spear of Thunder had no prayer of rescue. The current raced through their bones and turned them to crackling husks.
She cried out, and Thunder answered. It tracked her steps like a vengeful storm. Spear after spear pinned silver armor like bright beacons, drawing arcs that jumped from man to man, reaping lives without mercy. In a heartbeat, their numbers became a bad joke.
The scorched stink lifted off silver plates like burnt bark. The old knight’s nose wrinkled. His eyes held more awe than distaste.
“My lady, your power…”
Concern edged his voice. Great power always demands its price. He had never seen her wield this storm. Now it burst from her like a dam gone.
“Don’t worry. It’s complex. I’ll explain to Father.”
She exhaled hard. A mist of blood blossomed, vivid as a poppy. The terrible Thunder vanished, and the Thunder Arcane Power around her thinned to nothing, as if it had never been. The nave looked bombed, pews broken like teeth.
“All done?”
The young priest pushed the door and stepped out, smiling with eyes half-mooned. His hands rested behind his back, as if this were someone else’s afternoon.
She sighed, weary and wry. “Done…”
“Rest easy. Your wounds won’t leave sequelae. For safety, I’ll open a portal.”
He saw her worry and soothed it. His smile was sunlight through rain.
She checked twice, then let the breath go, long and shaking. Her knees wanted the floor. A young knight rushed to catch her, but the nun was quicker.
“You get your gear ready. I’ll guard your lady.”
She shot the young knight a glare like a thrown plate, then took the girl’s arm and guided her toward the inner room, third hand already reaching for a basin.
The young knight turned to object. The girl’s “kind” look pinned him like a needle. He froze, red-faced and useless.
The old knight dipped his head and dragged him toward the stables, sparing him the shame of lingering.
“Thank you for the Sanctum Church’s noninterference—and for saving my lady’s life. If we can serve, say the word.”
“Praise be to the Lord. I only keep the canon.”
Inside, the girl’s breath hitched. Another burst of blood mist spilled from her lips, threaded with filaments of Thunder Arcane Power that stung the eye.
“So it’s Arcane Power backlash after all. Lean here. I’ll fetch holy water…”
The nun eased her into a chair, worry knitting her brow, and turned to the side room for a fresher bowl.
“Cough, no need. I just lost control for a moment. Holy water won’t fix this. Better to save it.”
The girl waved weakly. She wasn’t being proud. The Thunder Arcane Power inside her had turned strange. Holy water was a stronger medicine, but medicine still. It wouldn’t touch this storm.
The nun assumed it was stubbornness and kept walking, her steps brisk as a metronome.
“A transmigrator ending up like this… pathetic.”
She checked her own pulse and pain, and her smile went crooked. The Thunder Arcane Power had stopped eating her flesh. But the backlash made it boil like a kettle in her veins. Her nerves turned sharp as wire. Every sensation bit deeper.
“Praise be to the Lord. You endured all this pain.”
The priest slipped back into the room. His smile was a warm lantern. Holy light fell from his hand like fine rain, and it smoothed the edges of pain inside her.
