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28 Dec 2025
"Ahhh—"
Geer could not stop the sound from escaping his throat—a hoarse, trembling moan filled with pure, overwhelming bliss.
A warmth beyond description surged through his body in an instant, flowing like liquid sunlight into every limb and organ. The gnawing weakness that had hollowed him out, the constant pain that had clung to his bones, and the biting chill brought on by hunger and sickness all vanished as if they had never existed.
Before his own disbelieving eyes, his withered body changed.
His sunken frame filled out as though air were being pumped into it, muscle and flesh returning where there had once been only skin and bone. Color rushed back into his pallid skin, replacing the grayish hue of a dying man with the healthy tones of life. He was still thin—no suddenly sculpted hero—but he now possessed the build of an ordinary adult man, slightly lean, yet unmistakably alive.
At the same moment, the long lashes of his daughter Lina, cradled tightly against his chest, fluttered.
Her previously unfocused eyes slowly opened.
The ashen pallor drained from her cheeks, replaced by a faint but undeniable flush. Though her breathing remained weak and shallow, the suffocating, heart-wrenching aura of death that had clung to her like a shroud was gone.
She looked up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes, and whispered weakly,
"—Daddy?"
"Lina! My Lina!!"
Geer's voice broke as tears streamed down his face. He clutched his restored daughter to his chest with trembling arms, laughing and sobbing all at once, overwhelmed by joy so intense it bordered on madness. His knees nearly gave out as relief crashed over him in waves.
Then, once more, Karl's deep and authoritative voice sounded beside his ear.
This time, however, it carried a trace of something else—something like resignation.
"Geer, I have purged the sickness and hunger from your body."
The words struck like a blade.
"As for your daughter Lina," Karl continued calmly, "I have only stayed her illness. I cannot uproot it entirely."
Geer's joy froze mid-breath. His heart lurched violently, and he jerked his head upward as if the heavens themselves had betrayed him.
"Why, my Lord?" he cried hoarsely. "If You could heal me, then surely You could heal her! Please—"
"It is not a matter of will," Karl interrupted, his voice heavy, as though he were contending with an invisible adversary.
"The world is infested with cultists and heretics."
Each word fell like thunder.
"They worship twisted and evil beings," Karl went on, suppressed fury seeping into his tone. "From those false devotions are born slaughter, calamity, and endless suffering. Countless true believers like you have been brutally murdered because of them."
His voice darkened further.
"Look at the empire you live in—the so-called Solar Church."
Geer's breath caught.
"Most of those within it have long since abandoned true doctrine," Karl declared. "They are heretics, driven by greed and desire, cloaking their corruption in My name."
"They demand coin, food, and labor from the faithful, claiming it is for Me."
Contempt dripped from every syllable.
"But what use does a god have for material wealth? They merely borrow My name to gorge themselves."
"What I truly require," Karl continued, his voice lowering, "is pure faith—faith that springs from sincere hearts like yours."
"Only such faith grants Me the strength to oppose false gods and cleanse heresy from the world."
"Only then can My light truly shine upon—and protect—My faithful flock."
The weight of those words exploded inside Geer's mind.
Everything he had been taught.
Every offering he had scraped together.
Every time he had watched priests live in luxury while his own child starved.
All the doubts he had buried, all the resentment he had never dared voice—suddenly, they found release.
So that was the truth.
They had been deceived from the very beginning.
The endless demands for offerings had never been divine will; they were nothing more than tools for parasites to fatten themselves. The true god had never wanted any of it.
The realization that he and Lina had nearly died—abandoned and bleeding faith dry—because of those lies sent a violent tremor through Geer's body. His hands shook. His teeth ground together audibly as rage unlike anything he had known before ignited in his chest.
He looked down at his daughter.
She was still weak. Still fragile. But she was alive.
That was enough.
A fierce resolve burned into his eyes, sharpening into something hard and unyielding. Purpose surged through him, replacing despair with iron determination.
Geer raised his head toward the empty, ruined temple and roared, his voice echoing like an oath carved into stone.
"My Lord, I understand now! Your follower Geer swears this before You—"
"I will cleanse the filthy heretics who profane Your holy light!"
"Even—" his voice cracked, "even if it costs me my life!!"
High above, Karl heard the vow clearly.
His lips curled faintly in satisfaction.
Another stream of pure Power of Faith flowed toward him—strong, untainted, and fiercely resolute.
And as a welcome bonus, this would undoubtedly cause trouble for that overly ambitious Emperor Emhyr, a man who loved dancing on the graves of his enemies.
Why not stir a little chaos in Nilfgaard's rear while he was at it?
"My devoted follower Geer," Karl said, approval resonating in his tone, "I have felt your resolve."
"But purging heresy is no simple matter. Do not rush blindly into action."
"First, spread My mercy and the true doctrine. Guide the lost lambs back to genuine belief."
"Only when more pure faith is gathered can My light shine more fully upon you."
"And only then," he added evenly, "can I completely heal your Lina."
His final words drifted away like fading sunlight.
"When you seek My guidance, go to any Solar Temple and pray—"
With that, the connection ended.
Karl turned his attention elsewhere, ignoring the newly forged zealot below—no longer a desperate beggar, but a man with purpose and a sacred mission.
He had done what was necessary.
He had granted health.
He had bestowed conviction.
He had returned and amplified the faith harvested from their hearts and the temple's lingering resonance.
How far Geer would go—
What kind of storm he would unleash within Nilfgaard—
That would depend on the depth of his faith.
And on his luck.
Karl slipped silently away from the shattered temple's skies, flowing like light itself through the air. He followed other faint, desperate prayers scattered across the land, drifting deeper into Nilfgaard.
He lingered.
He listened.
He found several more Solar believers—people like Geer—clinging to sincere faith while standing on the brink of despair. One by one, he intervened.
He corrected their distorted beliefs.
He redirected blind offerings into inner conviction.
He transformed faith into strength—and strength into action.
Then, subtly, he performed minor miracles to seal their belief.
Satisfied, Karl ascended once more and streaked northward toward Terra.
By the time he arrived above the continent, sunset had come and gone. The moon had risen, crossed the sky, and yielded to a new dawn. Now, under the midday sun, Karl hovered amid the clouds.
He was about to ascend higher—back toward the planet's edge to drink deeply of solar power—
When he heard Dalton's anxious voice drift upward from the manor below.
"Hey, mate, has anyone seen Lord Karl?"
"Over there?"
"Did you check the training ground?"
"He's not in the kitchen or the study either?"
Dalton hurried about, questioning everyone he encountered, growing more frantic by the minute.
Karl raised an eyebrow.
He postponed his ascent.
Melting seamlessly into sunlight, he descended without a sound and landed in the front courtyard. He appeared directly behind Dalton just as the man finished questioning a maid and turned toward the stables.
"Dalton," Karl said calmly.
Dalton froze.
If you want, I can also:
Tighten the prose further for professional publication
Adjust tone (darker, more epic, or more restrained)
Do a consistency pass across multiple chapters
Convert it into official light-novel style formatting
Just tell me.
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